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THE 


FLOUNCED EOBE, 


AND 

it C0d. 



HARRIET B. M’KEEYER, 

ti 


AUTHORESS OF “ SUNSHINE, OR KATE VINTON,” “TWIUGHT MUSINQS,” 

“ JESSE MORRISON,” ETC. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

LINDSAY & BLAKISTON. 

1859 . 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by 
LINDSAY & BLAKISTON, 

in the Clerk’s OfBce of the District Court of the United States for the 
Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 


BTEKEOTYPED BY J. FAQAN. . . . PRINTED BY C. SHERMAN & SON. 


PEEFACE. 


Believing that it will be generally con- 
ceded, that devotion to show and fashion 
characterize the age in which we live, it 
has been thought that a story intended 
to depict its ruinous tendency, in the 
life of one of its young devotees, might 
perhaps throw out some useful hints; 
first, to mothers, to whom is confided 
the forming of their daughters’ charac- 
ters for time and eternity; and also to 
the young ladies themselves, who like- 
wise have many responsibilities. 

(iii) 


IV 


PREFACE. 


If they wish to be like polished 
corners of the temple,” they must seek 
to be adorned by the beauty of holiness : 
then all the proprieties of life will have 
their proper place. 

A well-regulated mind will neither be 
a sloven, neglecting neatness and pro- 
priety, nor a woman of fashion, giving 
her best energies to that which is but 
secondary. 

She who truly loves God will not by 
extravagance waste the means which He 
has given her, upon mere personal deco- 
ration ; nor will she make herself fanati- 
cally disagreeable, by an affected singu- 
larity, and an undue avoidance of things 
unimportant. In studying the character 
of Augusta Spencer, it is feared that 


PREFACE. 


V 


many may see their own likeness re- 
flected: let such regard it steadily, and 
mark how it appears by the side of sweet 
Lucy Duncan; let them resolve by the 
help of God to avoid the snares which 
caused the wretchedness of Augusta; and 
to imitate the holy simplicity of her 
cousin Lucy : then the peace filling 
her youthful heart with such silvery 
chimes of happiness, will awaken in 
their young bosoms melodies which, com- 
menced on earth, shall swell out in their 
full perfection in Heaven. 




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1 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 

The Mother’s Vow Page 9 

CHAPTER II. 

The Children’s Ball 25 

CHAPTER III. 

The Cousins 41 

CHAPTER IV. 

\ 

The Musical Box, and the Spirit Chimes 58 

CHAPTER V. 

“A Sable Cloud with a Silver Lining” 75 

(vii) 


CONTENTS 


viii 

CHAPTER VI. 

Cross Purposes 93 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Flounced Robe 115 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Bitter Fruits 132 

CHAPTER IX. 

Peace at Last 159 




THE FLOUNCED ROBE, 

AND 


WHAT IT COST. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE mother’s vow. 

It was on a week-day’s service, when 
a number had assembled in a large city 
church ; some to take a part in, and others 
to witness the celebration of infant baptism. 

The church bell had struck its last peal, 
and the congregation gradually assumed a 
subdued and solemn aspect. 

The pastor, who was an earnest, faithful 
shepherd of souls, with a serious, devout 
manner conducted the worship. 


( 9 ) 


10 THE mother’s vow. 

Just before the time for the interesting 
service, a group of nurses, bearing in their 
arms a number of smiling infants, approached 
the font from the back door ; and were soon 
joined by their parents, who advanced from 
pews scattered over the church. ' 

Most of them wore an aspect of humble 
devotion, and trusting, praying faith; but 
among the number was one, in the very 
bloom and beauty of early womanhood. 

Mrs. Mary Spencer had been, and was 
still, a bright star in the world of fashion: 
she was attired in the latest mode, and was 
accompanied by a husband equally gay and 
worldly in his whole bearing. 

Her manner was graceful and composed ; 
for Mrs. Spencer was too fashionable ever to 
allow herself to be disturbed, or to take 
part in what she would call a scene: she 
joined, however, in the solemn service, with 


THE mother’s vow. 


11 


some appearance of feeling; but the most 
charitable who knew of her entire devotion 
to the frivolous pursuits of the giddy and 
thoughtless world, could not but wonder 
whether she realized the solemnity of the 
act in which she was engaged; and what 
she meant by the promise “ to renounce the 
pomps and vanities of this wicked world,” 
and to* bring up her immortal child for the 
service of God. 

It was a lovely babe, attired in the most 
costly manner; rich lace adorned its cap, 
and its snow-white mantle was embroidered 
in the most delicate and tasteful style. 

The pastor raised the sweet infant in his 
arms, and, as he said, ‘^Augusta, I baptize 
thee in the name of the Father, and of the 
Son, and of the Holy Ghost,” many Christian 
hearts put up an earnest prayer, that the 
Blessed Kedeemer would receive the little 


12 THE mother's vow. 

one as a lamb of his own precious flock. 
But why did this young devotee of fashion 
bring her babe to Christian baptism? 

Probably she had been taught, perhaps by 
a worldly mother, or an ignorant teacher, 
that thus it would certainly become a real, 
spiritual child of God, and that this was 
all that she had to do, to insure its sal- 
vation. 

But when Mr. l^orwood addressed the 
parents afterwards upon the nature of their 
vow, and explained all that was demanded 
of those who thus dedicated their ofispring 
openly to God, even the blunted conscience 
of Mrs. Spencer felt somewhat disturbed ; but 
she soon comforted herself by the thought, 
that her mother, who was a very devoted 
member of the church, did not attach such 
solemnity of meaning to the service; and 
that it was not required of one in her sta- 


THE mother’s vow. 13 

tion, and possessed of so much wealth, to 
sacrifice its enjoyment. 

Like many others, she regarded the whole 
ceremony as a mere form, which must he 
complied with ; but little did she dream of 
fulfilling her awful promise, now registered 
in heaven. ' 

The mother’s vow had been lightly taken. 
At the church door she left the feeble im- 
pression which had slightly touched her 
heart ; and, on arriving at home, the beauti- 
ful christening-dress, papa’s gold cup, grand- 
mamma’s gold armlets. Uncle Henry’s silver 
spoon and fork, and the select party assem- 
bled to celebrate the occasion, completely 
engrossed the attention of the thoughtless 
company, and soon dissipated the last vestige 
of serious feeling, which might perchance 
have visited the hearts of the worldly parents. 
They passed a merry evening, and, at its 


14 


THE mother’s vow. 


close, they parted, well convinced that nov 
the darling baby was a real Christian, since 
baptismal waters had bedewed its brow. 
Little Augusta was really a lovely babe, and 
as she left the days of infancy, gave promise 
of remarkable beauty; but surrounded from 
the earliest period of her life by an atmosphere 
of exceeding worldliness, her whole educa- 
tion was conducted upon principles entirely 
at variance with the heavenly spirit of the 
gospel of Christ. 

As soon as the child could notice any 
thing, she was taught to admire every article 
of dress that was lavished upon her ; conse- 
quently, she soon learned to love all kinds 
of finery. “Pretty ! pretty ! ” was constantly 
addressed to her, especially when, attired in 
a costly manner, she was ready for a ride 
or walk. 

Dressed in her hat and feathers, it was the 


THE mother’s vow. 


16 


custom of a frivolous French nurse always to 
take her to the glass ; and even when quite 
an infant, the coquettish toss of her pretty 
little head, and the clapping of her dimpled 
hands, gave painful proof that female vanity 
could he aroused even in an infant’s little 
heart. 

Every new fashion was greedily sought for 
her ; and, as she became old enough to ob- 
serve, she learned the lesson rapidly, that the 
adorning of the poor perishing body was the 
most important pursuit in life ; for it was the 
chief subject of conversation between her 
mother and her friends. 

Such an education produced abundant 
fruits. At six years of age she danced ex- 
quisitely, dressed in the most elegant style, 
her wardrobe was the chief object of maternal 
care, and, being the only child, enough jew- 
elry was bestowed upon the little girl to 


16 THE mother’s vow. 

adorn the toilet of a young princess. Her 
governess was a gay and worldly French 
woman, fostering all the faults of her youth- 
ful charge, making her daily more artificial, 
vain, and selfish. 

Augusta’s whims and wishes were allowed 
to rule the household, and she never 
dreamed that she had been placed in this 
world for any other purpose than to gratify 
her own desires, and to make every one 
submit to her caprices. Parents, teachers, 
servants, companions, all were made to feel 
the tyranny of her imperious temper. 

Her associates were selected from among 
families equally as worldly and frivolous as 
those of her own household, and she was 
taught most carefully to look down with 
contempt upon all who could not make the 
same display as herself. 

The only religious duties enforced upon 


THE mother’s vow. 


IT 


her were a few hasty words of evening prayer, 
going to church on Sunday morning, and 
dry and difficult lessons in the Catechism. 
All these requirements were laid upon her as 
unpleasant tasks ; and truly, to little Augusta, 
they were severe penances. She had neither 
seen nor heard of the blessedness of serving 
God; for she had been accustomed to look 
upon His name. His law, and His day, as so 
many unwelcome interferences with her 
pleasures. 

Mrs. Spencer seemed wholly to have for- 
gotten her vow. All her thoughts and affec- 
tions ‘‘were of the earth, earthy,” and by 
example, associates, and all of domestic in- 
fluence, the little girl was daily led farther 
and farther away from God and heaven. 

If she appeared in the evening in the 
drawing-room becomingly dressed, and able 
to make some display of her accompli sh- 
B 


18 THE mother’s vow. 

ments, Mrs. Spencer was satisfied; little 
dreaming of the worldly, selfish principles 
that were rapidly taking possession of her 
baptized and consecrated child. 

As Augusta grew older she became still 
more vain, perverse, and selfish. M’lle 
could, with the greatest difficulty, control 
her wayward pupil. 

Determined to have her own way, when 
thwarted she would indulge in the most vio- 
lent paroxysms of anger; and, in order to 
escape the trouble of a contest, M’lle would 
yield to the self-willed child, who, having 
grown artful, seldom failed to gain her ends. 

When about ten years old, observing that 
her young friends were allowed to prome- 
nade Chestnut Street, she was very anxious 
to display her splendid dress on that fashion- 
able place of resort. Accordingly, one after- 
noon she presented herself, fully attired in 


THE mother’s vow. 


19 


her most elegant new dress, flounced and 
hooped to the waist ; her bonnet, loaded with 
trimming, scarcely touched her head; and, 
altogether, she presented the most ridiculous 
figure of a little girl, dressed as a woman. 

“Where are you going, Augusta?” in- 
quired M’lle. 

“ I am going out to walk; Miss Lister is to 
call forme at four o’clock.” 

“Have you asked your mamma’s con- 
sent?” 

“Hot I, mamma is going out to ride; she 
will never ask where I have been.” 

“You have not asked my permission, 
Augusta, and I scarcely think that you ought 
to go without that.” 

“You know that you dare not refuse me, 
for it would be of no use. I am not a baby 
now, and don’t mean to ask where I may go, 
and what I may do.” 


20 THE mother’s vow. 

M’lle, not caring to prolong the contest, or 
provoke any more impertinence, withdrew 
all opposition, and, in a few minutes, the 
servant announced Miss Lister. M’lle went 
down with Augusta, and there beheld one 
of the most frivolous of the little girl’s com-, 
panions, several years older than herself. 

She lisped out, in the most affected tones, 
“ I have called for Mith Auguthta, to take a 
promenade on Chethnut Threet; thith ith 
the hour for the young ladieth and gentle- 
men to walk out — they are all too bithy in 
the morning.” 

“Do not stay out late,” said M’lle, as she 
parted from them at the door. 

“ I cannot help it,” said she, as she entered 
the house; “there’s no doing anything with 
such a perverse, self-willed child.” 

The silly children soon reached the fash- 
ionable thoroughfare, and, in a short time. 


THE mother’s vow. 


21 


were joined by some equally silly little boys, 
who called themselves young gentlemen, 
though scarcely in their teens. 

The whole afternoon was spent in flirting 
up and down the street, bowing familiarly to 
boys, some of whom they knew, and to others 
who were entire strangers. 

Throwing back their heads, and meeting, 
with unblushing faces, the crowds who passed 
them, with foolish tittering, and afiected 
mincing steps, they continued their prome- 
nade until it was nearly dark — having made, 
in their afternoon’s walk, some very im- 
proper acquaintances, but both enjoining 
secresy and silence before they parted. 

That walk taught to each lessons of bold- 
ness, duplicity, and frivolity, and their fash- 
ionable mothers were entirely ignorant of the 
whole. 

Thus was laid the foundation for deceit 


22 


THE mother’s vow. 


which so grievously marred Augusta’s youth- 
ful character. 

When she appeared before her mother, no 
questions were asked, and the finger stealth- 
ily placed on M’lle’s lips proved that the 
beautiful collar, purchased in Augusta’s walk, 
had bought the silence which she desired. 
She knew from former experience, that, with 
such a bribe, she had nothing to fear from 
her unprincipled teacher. 

Ah ! how carelessly are governesses chosen 
to take charge of, and mould, the plastic 
characters of -the children of fashionable 
parents. Only searching for a pure French 
accent and manners, it matters but little 
what lessons of falsehood and intrigue may 
be daily learned from the practice of such 
dangerous guides. Such lessons had a pow- 
erful effect upon the character of Augusta 
Spencer. 


THE mother’s vow. 


23 


Christmas was now drawing nigh, and, 
anxious to gratify all Augusta’s whims, Mrs. 
Spencer asked what she would rather have 
for her Christmas gift. 

‘‘Well, mamma, I would rather have a 
ball than any thing else. Mary Lister’s was 
such a splendid ball, but I think that we 
could have one that would far outdo hers.” 

“ That is just what I was thinking, 
Augusta. I will ask your father, and we 
will give the most elegant fancy ball that 
ever was seen in Philadelphia.” 

“We’ll send out a hundred cards,” replied 
Augusta; “we’ll have the Germania band, a 
splendid supper, rooms dressed with flowers, 
carpets laid from the carriages, and the most 
elegant dresses that ever were seen, but let 
us be sure to have every thing more beautiful 
than any other ball this season.” 

Mrs. Spencer listened to the foolish rat- 


24 THE mother’s vow. 

tling of her beautiful child, and never once 
reverted to the solemn scene acted at the 
chancel ten years before, when she had pro- 
mised, before God, to ‘‘renounce the vain 
pomps and vanities of this wicked world,” 
and to educate the soul committed to her 
care, for another and a better state of exist- 
ence. 

But One above had not forgotten that 
solemn vow, and at the last great day will 
point the faithless mother to words burnt in 
upon the remorseful soul ; for the first time 
awake to the awful responsibilities of a 
mother’s holy duties; but, alas! forever 
awake too late. 


THE children’s BALL. 


25 


CHAPTEE II. 

THE children’s BALL. 

The thouglit having once entered Au- 
gusta’s mind, there was no rest until papa’s 
consent was obtained; and Christmas Eve 
was the time appointed for the great event. 

For the two weeks preceding, nothing 
else was thought of or talked of; lessons 
were entirely neglected, and the whole house- 
hold disturbed, to minister to the whims of 
this spoiled and petted child. 

Who should be invited, and who left out, 
were constant subjects of discussion: of 
course, all who had any pretensions to style 
were included ; but even her relations, who 
were both too sensible and too pious to 


26 


THE children’s BALL. 


follow the fashions of the world, were ques- 
tionable guests. 

Indeed, mamma, I do not think that we 
ought to invite Lucy Duncan : she might 
come, and I should be ashamed to acknow- 
ledge such a common, plain-looking girl for 
my cousin, among my fashionable friends.” 

“ Her mother is my cousin, Augusta, and 
I should not like to have her slighted : she 
was one of my early friends: we ought to 
pay her the compliment, though I am sure 
that she will not let her children come.” 

Mrs. Duncan’s children were consequently 
added to the list, although Augusta really 
hoped that they would not accept. 

How commenced the busy preparations: 
workmen were employed in the large range 
of parlors, putting up frames for flowers and 
other decorations. The carpets were all taken 
up, and the floors prepared for the. dancers. 


THE children’s BALL. 


27 


People were running to and fro — dress- 
makers with their paraphernalia, and jewel- 
lers with their ornaments; but the whole 
arrangements for the supper were left to the 
most fashionable waiter, with orders to spare 
no expense. 

IN’ot only was Mrs. Spencer’s family en- 
tirely disarranged, hut wherever invitations 
had been sent, like injurious results might 
he seen. 

The heads of many young students were 
completely turned, their duties as pupils 
wholly neglected; and a complete engross- 
ing of their time was the consequence. 

Many a perplexed and anxious teacher 
had reason to mourn over this foolish and 
sinful entertainment ; and many a child was, 
for weeks afterward, unable to return ener- 
getically to the routine of school duties and 
employments. 


28 


THE children’s BALL. 


Acceptances were pouring in daily; but, 
as was expected, and even desired, Mrs. 
Duncan declined the invitation for her child- 
ren, as she never intended that they should 
mingle in such scenes of folly, at any age. 
She, at least, had understood and kept the 
baptismal vow, and she was greatly blessed 
in the results of her careful Christian train- 
ing; for, early in life, Lucy had given evi- 
dence of a heart changed by Divine Grace, 
and a character ripening for Heaven. She 
had no desire for these frivolities; indeed, 
she would have felt the whole scene so 
utterly uncongenial to the tastes of a re- 
newed nature, that it would have been 
misery to mingle in such scenes. 

After two weeks of giving and counter- 
manding orders; after a dozen outbreaks 
of temper, and many fits of passionate weep- 
ing, the evening drew near. Several dresses 


THE CHILDEEN’S BALL. 


29 


were sent to be examined — tarleton richly 
trimmed, embroidered muslin, lace of varions 
kinds ; but the most elegant was one made 
of point lace. 

Mrs. Spencer tried all her eloquence to 
persuade the child to have a handsome 
tarleton dress, but at the bare mention of 
it, she flew into a violent passion. ‘‘ I am 
astonished at you, mamma, to ask me to 
wear such a mean dress: papa is able to 
give me a point lace, and I won’t have any- 
thing else.” 

“Why, my dear, I really think that the 
tarleton would be more suitable for a little 
girl; the lace is too old.” 

“ I don’t care, mamma : if I can’t have it, 
I w’on’t have the ball ; ” and she threw her- 
self upon the bed, and cried with anger. 

According to the usual mode of govern- 
ment, she was allowed to have her own way. 


30 


THE children’s BALL. 


“Don’t cry, my dear: you shall have any- 
thing you please; only don’t spoil your eyes. 
I know papa will give it to you.” 

And another lesson of self-will, disobe- 
dience, and extravagance was indelibly im- 
pressed. The dress was purchased, and 
made up in the most elegant style ; expen- 
sive French flowers adorned the skirt, and 
when it was sent home, the child was in a 
perfect ecstasy of delight. 

“I am sure, mamma, that mine will be 
the most elegant dress in the room. How I 
shall he envied and admired ! ” 

When the evening arrived, Augusta’s maid 
dreaded the task of dressing her ; for expe- 
rience had taught her that she had to endure 
several hours of capricious insolence and 
violent temper. 

After having her hair dressed, Augusta 
went to the glass, and in a transport of rage 


THE children’s BALL. 


31 


exclaimed: “Why, Ellen, it is a perfect 
fright : take it down this instant, and dress 
it over again;” and the little beauty snatched 
oft* the ftowers, threw them violently on the 
dressing-table, and hurst into a violent fit of 
weeping. The poor girl had all her task to 
perform again, although she knew that all 
had been exactly right. 

Then came the dress : after it was put on, 
she walked haughtily before the glass. “ It 
is too high in the neck: Madame Latour 
must be a fool to send home such a ridicu- 
lous dress;” and Ellen had to take it oft*, 
and cut it still lower. 

Then came the tying of the sash. “ The 
bow is too large.” It was altered. “Now 
it is too small.” It w^as altered again. “It 
is too much on one side.” Again it was 
changed. “ The ribbon is too narrow, any- 
how: I won’t w^ear it.” And passionately 


32 THE children’s ball. 

she tore oft’ the sash, rolled it up in a bunch, 
spit on it angrily, and threw it on the ftoor ; 
then she sat down upon an ottoman, kicking 
out her feet, pouting and crying, until Ellen 
feared that she would not be dressed in time. 
“ Miss Augusta, I am afraid that your eyes 
will be so red and swollen, that you will not 
be fit to go into the room.” This silenced 
the child ; for nothing was of so much im- 
portance as how she looked ; and she dried 
her eyes, bathed them in rose-water, and, 
after some more persuasion and coaxing, suc- 
ceeded in being dressed. When mamma 
entered, the finishing stroke was given to 
the folly and wickedness of this scene. 

« Why, Augusta, you look perfectly lovely: 
none will eclipse my daughter to-night. Come 
and let me kiss my sweet child.” 

But the sweet child could not kiss her 
mamma, for fear of disarranging her elegant 


THE children’s ball. 33 

dress. ‘‘Take care, mamma, how you dis- 
turb my hair; it is just right now, and I 
would rather not have the kiss, for fear that 
you should tumble my dress.” 

Poor silly child! weak, foolish mother! 
thus to spread around her immortal child 
snares which must destroy her character in 
this life, and her undying soul in the world 
to come ! 

Ten years before, she had vowed for this 
child to renounce “ the pomps and vanities 
of this wicked world, with all the sinful lusts 
of the flesh;” and here she was nurturing 
the pride which God hates ; feeding selfish- 
ness, extravagance, and every hurtful pas- 
sion. 

All that remained of that solemn vow was 
its record in the church-books of her parish : 
it had long since vanished from her memory, 
and had never influenced her heart. 


c 


84 


THE CHILDKEN’S BALL. 


All was now ready, and Augusta began to 
watcli the clock with an impatient spirit. 
She did not expect the company until a late 
hour, but still she ran up and down the stair- 
case, and in and out of the parlors a dozen 
times, to see that all was in perfect order. 
She flew to the window to watch arrivals, 
then to the glass to admire herself ; but, as 
the highest degree of folly was to be acted 
out, the children, like their elders, did not 
begin to assemble until nine o’clock. Mrs. 
Spencer’s pride was fully gratified when she 
heard, on all sides, expressions of rapture at 
the beauty of her daughter, and the magnifi- 
cence and costliness of her dress. She was 
especially pleased that none but Augusta 
wore a point-lace, looped up with flowers; 
her jewelry was superb, and, having reached 
for once the summit of her desires, she 
sparkled and fluttered about with the sportive 
grace of a sylph, 


THE children’s ball. 


85 


But no childish mirth was allowed — all 
the ceremonies practised by their mothers at 
their fashionable balls were observed ; little 
boys aped the men, and little girls flirted 
their fans, and put on all the airs of fine 
ladies. 

When supper-time arrived, at the playing 
of a march, the boys selected their partners, 
and handed them to a table laden with 
every luxury usual at the most extravagant 
entertainments. 

Flowers bloomed every where, and at each 
plate was placed a rich bouquet. Every 
variety of wdne sparkled on the table, and it 
was indeed a painful sight when little boys 
were seen drinking their champagne, with 
all the airs of premature men. 

Truly it was a sad spectacle, when youthful 
tastes for simple pleasure were so wickedly 
marred, and childhood, with all its freshness, 
so miserably perverted. 


86 


THE children’s ball. 


Wretched substitutes for the natural sport- 
ing under green trees, and in the open air, 
which that fresh and joyous season so much 
delights in ! Sad exchange of the wine-cup 
for the sparkling water, or the delicious glass 
of sweet milk, drank at the table of some 
plain farm-house ! 

Infinitely better are even the untamed 
spirits of the most sportive nature, than such 
cruel destruction of this season of pure and 
simple joys. 

At a late hour, the pale, wearied, overfed 
children departed. Augusta had given the 
grand ball of the season, and her ambition 
had been gratified; but there was still a 
thorn amid her flowers, for there had been 
some among her guests as beautiful as her- 
self : and envy of some, and dislike of others, 
filled her bosom as she pressed her pillow, 
worn out with a severe sick headache. 


THE children’s BALL. 


37 


But few of the children could rise next 
day, for the night’s dissipation and over- 
eating had injured many. Several were sick 
for days; hut, as the Christmas week was one 
of what was styled enjoyment, several other 
parties were given, and when the time for 
returning to school arrived, many were con- 
fined to their beds, and hut few inclined to 
resume their sober duties. 

Incalculable was the harm done — time 
and money wasted, health injured, and the 
moral character of the poor little victims 
sacrificed to the idol of fashion. Woe to the 
parents who could lend their influence to 
such follies ! 

Let us turn to a more pleasant and rational 
scene. Mr. Duncan was a gentleman of 
moderate means; surrounded by many of the 
comforts, but by none of the luxuries, of 
life ; pious and consistent, his views entirely 


38 THE children’s ball. 

harmonized with those of his lovely wife. 
Anxious to promote the best and highest 
interests of their children, they spared no 
pains to make home happy. 

They had five children, of w^hom Lucy 
was the eldest. Three had received an invi- 
tation to Augusta’s ball, but being declined, 
Mr. Duncan told his children that he w^as 
going to have a party on the same evening. 
Accordingly, on Christmas eve, all the chil- 
dren, even the little ones, took tea with their 
parents ; four cousins, and two or three little 
friends w^ere invited, and were regaled with 
refreshments, which, while they Avere plenti- 
ful and inviting, ofiered nothing that could 
injure them. After tea, they were enter- 
tained for about an hour with a very fine 
magic lantern, and, at nine o’clock, a bell 
was rung, and a curtain, which had been 
hung across the end of the parlor, was drawn 


/ 


THE children’s BALL. 


39 


aside, and disclosed to the delighted children 
a beautiful Ghristmas-tree, brilliantly lighted, 
and hung with gifts for all the members of 
the family. 

The mother advanced, and, taking down 
all the gifts as they were numbered, handed 
them to the happy children. 

There was considerable noise among the 
merry party, and all was lovous, fresh, and 
childish. 

The parents were delighted with their 
chamber-slippers, beautifully worked by 
Lucy, and other love-tokens from the 
younger children. 

Lucy was equally charmed with the rose- 
wood writing-desk, and the others with pretty 
gifts. 

In their simple winter attire, receiving 
from each other offerings valuable chiefly 
on account of the love which they expressed. 


40 THE CHILD hen’s BALL. 

it was a liappy group gathered that evening 
in Mr. Duncan’s cheerful parlor. 

Old Aunt Becky, their faithful servant, 
was not forgotten. When she came forward, 
and received a new dress, a pair of stock- 
ings, a neat cap, a pair of gloves, and a Bible 
with large print, her joy knew no bounds. 
She shed tears of grateful delight, which she 
wiped with the corner of her new apron. 

It had taken but little to provide this 
party, but affection prompted the gifts, and 
piety sanctified their joys. How different 
from the heartless gaiety of Augusta’s first 
ball. 


THE COUSINS. 


41 


CHAPTER III. 

THE COUSINS. 

Mrs. Duncan had been one of Mrs. Spen- 
cer’s early friends, but the fashionable life of 
the latter had no charms for the really intel- 
lectual and pious cousin. 

Mr. Duncan was a merchant, barely able 
to support his family in comfort, but they 
desired no more. Blessed in each other, and 
a family of loving children, cheered by the 
hopes of a bright immortality through a Re- 
deemer’s merits, they needed none of the 
glitter of worldly show to make them happy. 

Though possessed of moderate means, by 
the exercise of strict economy they provided 
comforts for their own household, and ex- 


42 


THE COUSINS. 


tended a helping hand to many poorer than 
themselves. 

They soon found that persons of their 
plain habits were not desirable or welcome 
guests at the house of the Spencers. Their 
visits, therefore, were few, and principle pre- 
vented them from mingling in any of their 
scenes of giddy mirth. 

Mrs. Duncan pitied Augusta Spencer, for 
she knew that self-indulgence must sooner 
or later work misery; and, admiring both her 
beauty and her talents, she could not but 
regret that such gifts should all he thrown 
away upon the world. 

Sometimes Mrs. Spencer almost envied the 
calm happiness that shed its halo of peace 
over the domestic circle of her cousin ; and 
could not hut contrast it with the peevishness 
and discontent, that so frequently dimmed 
the atmosphere of her own household. 


THE COUSINS. 


43 


Mr. Duncan had frequently alarmed his 
affectionate wife by attacks of illness, which 
daily assumed a more threatening aspect. 
He became weak and thin, a constant cough 
indicated disease, and, when night-sweats 
made their appearance, serious doubts w^ere 
entertained of his recovery. 

The best physicians were called in, the 
most watchful care bestowed upon him ; but 
disease made rapid progress — consumption 
was fully developed — and all that the humble 
Christian had to do was to endeavor to make 
some provision for his little family, and qui- 
etly and calmly to prepare for another and a 
better world. Sweet and comforting were 
the sacred hours passed by this pious pair ! 

Slowly, but steadily, his sun went down, 
but its last departing rays beamed hopes of 
unspeakable glory around his death-bed. 
Ills end was peace ; but it was soon found 


44 


THE COUSINS. 


that all he had left his helpless family were 
hopes of reunion in a better world, and the 
certainty of struggling hard in this for their 
daily bread. 

As soon as Mrs. Duncan discovered that, 
after paying all their debts, they would be 
penniless, she sold all their best furniture, 
retained the plainest, and moved to a small 
house in an obscure part of the city, where 
she took in plain sewing, and Lucy worked 
embroidery. 

The other children were placed in a public 
school, and soon they found themselves de- 
prived of their affectionate head, and in the 
vale of poverty. 

And how much sympathy did Mrs. Spen- 
cer, her early friend, exhibit ? She sent her 
carriage to the funeral, her card a few days 
after, and a couple of dresses — one for Mrs. 
Duncan, the other for Lucy; but no kind 


THE COUSINS. 


45 


words or sympathizing tears: these sweet 
balms for the hour of adversity were all 
withheld. 

Occasionally she paid a ceremonious call ; 
but when Mrs. Duncan moved into a small 
house, Mrs. Spencer gradually dropped her 
early friend; and at last all intercourse 
ceased, excepting messages sent by Mrs. 
Spencer’s servant, concerning the work which 
she ostentatiously sent to her cousin. 

For years, Mrs. Duncan struggled hard to 
maintain her little family: trials of various 
kinds beset her path — stinted pay, and that 
often delayed for a long time; insulting 
messages from the vulgar rich, whose work 
she toiled over, early and late, — all bowed 
her spirit down to the dust; but in the midst 
of all she could still say: ‘‘Thy will, not 
mine, be done.” 

Lucy was a great comfort: in all her 


46 


THE COUSINS. 


mother’s trials, she bore a cheerful, uncom- 
plaining part, aiding her most faithfully in 
the care of her little brothers and sisters. 

She grew up to be a most charming girl : 
few possessed more personal attractions ; and 
her character daily deepened in all the love- 
liest traits of youthful piety. 

Had Augusta quite forgotten her cousin ? 
Was she so entirely spoiled by the heartless 
world ? It is feared that it was even so ; for 
while she continued to employ Lucy to work 
all her embroidery, nothing beyond a cold 
salutation, when they met in the street, was 
ever exchanged. 

Sometimes they met when coming out of 
church ; but A.ugusta was too great a slave 
to fashion to be seen speaking to a poor 
sewing-girl, as she superciliously styled her 
really elevated cousin. Both had reached 
the age of womanhood. Augusta’s early 


THE COUSINS. 


4T 


promise of uncommon beauty bad been fully 
realized: her elegant dress, her splendid 
carriage, her numerous conquests, were the 
subjects of general remark; and, to many 
foolish, worldly young persons, of bitter 
envy. 

Her love of dress was so excessive, that it 
marred her whole life, and destroyed all 
that was really lovely in a woman. She 
neglected the cultivation of her mind ; read 
nothing but foolish novels, and magazines 
devoted to fashion. 

Intellectual society had no charms for her; 
and as to the truly pious, she deemed them 
no better than fanatics, and the term of 
Methodist she contemptuously applied to all 
characters who preserved their consistency, 
by endeavoring to live like strangers, and 
pilgrims on the earth. Little did she deem 
how powerful was her influence over her 


48 


THE COUSINS. 


young friends, and indeed on all who were 
connected with her. 

The servants, in their kitchen, observed 
her devotion to dress; and endeavored, in 
their circle, to imitate the young lady in the 
parlor. Annette, her waiting-maid, was con- 
tinually talking about her young mistress' 
grandeur, and showing the numerous cast- 
off dresses which Augusta frequently sold to 
her. 

The baneful example had its effect: Sarah 
the cook, Jane the chambermaid, and Ellen, 
her mother’s maid, all vied with each other, 
trying who could make the most elegant 
display on Sunday. All their hard earnings 
were spent for finery; and although each 
had poor relations, whom they might have 
helped to hear their burdens, all such claims 
were forgotten — so much were they bent on 
gratifying their passion to its utmost. 


THE COUSINS. 


49 


Ellen was especially pretty, young, and very 
fond of gay entertainments, and frivolous 
companions. Often was she out late at 
night, and frequently returned home attended 
by young men of bad character, far above 
her in station of life : she was often seen in 
possession of valuable jewelry, such as rings 
and breast-pins, and at last boasted of having 
received a watch, as a present from one of 
her admirers. Augusta’s example contri- 
buted not a little to foster this love of dress ; 
by frequently selling, even to servants, her 
cast-off dresses, which were exceedingly im- 
proper for their station. 

Ellen put on great airs, became imperti- 
nent, was far above performing the duties of 
a domestic, and, at last, in a fit of passion, 
warned her mistress to get another waiting- 
maid, saying that she expected soon to be 
married to a gentleman, who would be able 


D 


50 


THE COUSINS. 


to give her a fine house and carriage, and a 
servant of her own. 

After her departure, the other servants 
prophesied her downfall, and, in a short 
time, the giddy girl was seen in public 
places, acting in a shameless and impudent 
manner. Many hints were throAvn out inju- 
rious to her character, and, when Mrs. 
Spencer asked Annette if she ever saw her 
now, with a toss of her head, she replied : 

“Indeed, ma’am, I would not be seen 
speaking to Ellen now, she is no longer a fit 
associate for a respectable girl.” 

The seed sown so abundantly in Mrs. 
Spencer’s house, had indeed taken root, and 
brought forth the bitter fruits of open profii- 
gacy. Little did Augusta think of the fear- 
ful power of woman’s infiuence, when, by 
precept and example, she had so carelessly 
led an inferior into such deep depravity. 


THE COUSINS. 


51 


The passion for dress must he gratified, and 
the wretched girl cared not at what cost it 
was purchased. Could we follow the poor 
misguided victim through a few years of 
reckless wickedness, down, down, through all 
the descending grades of vice, until she 
reaches her early and forsaken death-hedj 
perchance we might hear, amid her dying 
groans, reproaches of the thoughtless child 
of fashion, whose influence led her first 
astray. 

Think of this, poor giddy devotee of folly ! 
Eememher, remember that not one act of 
yours but leads with it numbers whom you 
might have wooed to happiness and heaven ; 
remember, that not one holy being, however 
humble, travels alone to the rest above, nor 
does one careless sinner walk alone to the 
regions of despair. 

In Augusta’s life of folly, was she happy ? 


52 


THE COUSINS. 


Or, rather, was not her mirth like that de- 
scribed in the word of God, which, coming 
from a worldly heart, “ is like the troubled 
sea, which casts up mire and dirt?” 

In the silent hours of the night, when no 
eye but God’s beheld her, how fully did she 
often realize the truth of that fearful saying, 
which declares, “ there is no peace, saith my 
God, to the wicked.” 

It is true that Augusta Spencer was the 
bright leader of fashion. Around her danced 
many a painted butterfly, who basked in her 
sunshine, and partook of her magnificence ; 
and, judging from her life of folly, one would 
suppose that there could be no world but 
this — no judgment-seat, with its glittering 
sword of divine justice — no great white 
throne, on which the Mediator shall lay aside 
the olive-branch of peace — no consuming 
world — no endless period of duration, where 


THE COUSINS. 


53 


tliose who have loved pleasure more than 
God, shall he forever consumed by the un- 
dying worm of bitter but fruitless remorse. 

Such a thoughtless being was Augusta 
Spencer. Her loveliness was all in the out- 
ward casket, which contained her selfish, 
worldly spirit. 

Lucy’s was of another character, so tender, 
so touching, her soft hazel eyes beamed 
always with an expression of holy, elevated 
serenity; her rich, dark hair lay in massy 
folds around her beautifully-shaped head; 
her carriage was lady-like and composed; 
and none could pass by Lucy Duncan without 
being struck with her whole appearance of 
simple, dignified grace. 

Great pains had been taken with her edu- 
cation ; for, before her father’s death, he had 
given her the very best advantages which his 
means allowed. 


54 


THE COUSINS. 


Her talents were of a high order, and, 
being very fond of intellectual pursuits, 
whatever time she could spare from other 
duties was devoted to the improvement of 
her mind. 

Among the few articles which were not 
sold was Lucy’s piano. "With this she be- 
guiled many a weary evening hour, whenever 
she could possibly spare the time. Though 
compelled, by the force of circumstances, to 
labor for her maintenance, and to endure the 
ills of poverty, supported by the consciousness 
of being under divine guidance, her bearing 
everywhere commanded respect. Shut out 
entirely from the gay world, her home, 
humble as it was, was the sweet haven of 
rest, where she could fold her weary arms 
after her toilsome days, and around a mother’s 
hearth-stone find repose. 

But a still higher source of blessedness 


THE COUSINS. 


55 


was hers. Walking closely in the footsteps 
of the flock, she abode near the Shepherd’s 
tent, and His banner over the young girl was 
unchanging love. 

Her mother clung to her with increasing 
love. Her brothers and sisters looked up to 
sister Lucy as their one bright star ; and, in 
her humble sphere, though overlooked by 
the world, she was approved by Heaven, and 
was happy. 

Sometimes her heart was pained by the 
cold neglect of former friends, especially her 
cousin Augusta. 

On one occasion she was out purchasing 
trimmings for some work; and, while she 
stood at the counter, Augusta and Miss De- 
Lancey, a young lady of fashion, entered the 
store. 

Miss He Lancey recognised Lucy as she 
passed, and bowed politely to her, for she 


56 


THE COUSINS. 


had frequently had articles of dress made by 
her mother. 

Lucy heard her say: “Augusta, did you 
see that sweet young girl near the door?” 

“Do you mean the one in mourning?” 

“ I do. Is it not your cousin, Lucy Dun- 
can?” 

“You are quite mistaken. Miss De Lan- 
cey; she is only our sewing-girl, and has 
worked for us several years.” 

“ She seems to be a very superior person,” 
answered Miss De Lancey: “Mamma says 
that she will not alwa^^s be in her present 
position ; though I think that she gives dig- 
nity to that.” 

Lucy blushed as she heard these remarks, 
but her heart warmed towards the young 
girl who spoke so kindly of her; but that 
her cousin Augusta should have so meanly 
denied her relationship, she scarcely could 


THE COUSINS. 


57 


have believed. More than ever did she 
thank God for having given her sensible, 
pious parents, who had always taught her to 
despise such petty, unworthy sentiments of 
pride. She had always been taught that 
labor was honorable, and idleness a dis- 
grace; and when she looked around, and 
saw how much of activity was manifested 
everywhere, in all the elements ; among the 
animal and vegetable worlds ; above, below, 
around, — she thanked God that she too was 
a fellow-laborer in the busy world, and that 
her toils were blessed in the service of her 
family. Pity filled her bosom for Augusta; 
and she inwardly prayed that her heart 
might be changed, ere it was forever too 
late. 


58 


THE MUSICAL BOX. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE MUSICAL BOX, AND THE SPIRIT CHIMES. 

Numerous invitations poured in upon Au- 
gusta SpencQr| her whole life was one of 
entire devotion to the world. Parties, halls, 
operas, theatres, engrossed her whole time ; 
she was constantly engaged in, or preparing 
for, some scene of gayety or folly. 

We will drop in upon her, for a few 
minutes, while she is making arrangements 
for another ball. Seated at her toilet, in an 
elegant morning-wrapper, she is examining 
a casket of jewelry, trying on various arti- 
cles, and unable to decide which is most 
becoming. On her bed are laid out a num- 
ber of rich robes; head-dresses of many 


THE MUSICAL BOX. 


59 


kinds are scattered about; her dressing-maid 
is busily engaged in making some slight 
alteration in the new lace robe just sent 
home. 

‘‘Will you not try this dress on, Miss 
Augusta?” said Annette. “I think that it 
will answer now.” 

“ If it looks at all like Mary De Lancey’s, 
I will not wear it. I am determined that it 
shall be different from all others.” 

“I have inquired of Susan, her dressing- 
maid; and from what she says, I am sure 
that yours is much handsomer.” 

The capricious beauty tried on her dress, 
and not being able to find any more fault, it 
was tossed upon the bed, as the one chosen 
for the night. 

Then came the selection of jewelry. “I 
think that I will wear my carbuncles; but 
no, now I think of it, several young ladies 


60 


THE MUSICAL BOX. 


have the same. I will wear my mosaics. 
Oh, no ! I ’ll wear my diamonds ; few can 
equal this splendid set.” 

Then she seated herself at her dressing- 
table ; and, while preparing some little arti- 
cle of taste, was entertained by the playing 
of a musical-box, that generally stood on her 
table. It played a variety of waltzes, polkas, 
etc.; and, in the reverie produced by the 
music, she imagined new conquests for the 
evening, and determined to exert all her 
powers in endeavoring to fascinate Arthur 
Nelson — handsome, wealthy, and the chief 
attraction at all places of fashionable resort. 

"While building these airy castles, she sat 
tapping her foot to the inspiring music, and 
recalling the attentions paid her the evening 
before, was almost counting upon him as a 
new conquest. 

While indulging in these day-dreams, a 


THE MUSICAL BOX. 


61 


knock was heard at her chamber-door. A 
servant came with a message from her mother, 
saying that she had a severe head-ache, and 
would he glad if Augusta would come and 
sit with her awhile, and bathe her head. 

“ Tell mamma that it is impossible. I am 
so busy getting ready for Mrs. Lisle’s hall, 
that I cannot spare a minute. Send for 
Mary (mamma’s maid); she can wait upon 
her.” 

Augusta closed the door, and seated her- 
self again at the dressing-table ; the box no 
longer discoursed enchanting music ; it sent 
out strains of discord, for it echoed the re- 
proaching notes of her own selfish spirit. 

“Stop the box, Annette,” said Augusta; 
“ it sounds dreadfully. Something must be 
the matter with it.” 

Annette obeyed her mistres^ orders; who, 
wearied out with the night’s dissipation, 


62 


THE MUSICAL BOX. 


threw herself upon her bed, and slept for 
several hours. When she awoke, she again 
returned to her vain employments. Stretch- 
ing out her hand to lift a wreath of flowers, 
her neglected Bible attracted her attention. 
Listlessly she turned over its pages : her eye 
rested upon the passage: “She that liveth 
in pleasure, is dead while she liveth.” The 
thought was alarming, unpleasant ; she closed 
her Bible, and endeavored to banish the un- 
welcome warning. 

Notwithstanding the message from her 
mother, she did not visit her until evening, 
and then found her in a state of great suflfer- 
ing; but the idea of denying herself, to 
minister to the comfort of a sick parent, 
never once entered her mind. 

“ Of course, mamma, you do not want me 
to stay at home : you know that Mrs. Lisle’s 
will be a splendid ball : it would be such a 


THE MUSICAL BOX. 


63 


terrible thing to miss the opportunity of 
showing my splendid point lace : Mary can 
take care of you just as well.” 

“ I do not ask you to stay, Augusta,” said 
the mother, while large tears rolled down 
her cheeks; ^^you can go, though I think 
that you might sometimes spare an hour or 
two for your mother.” 

Augusta turned away quite offended, and 
wondered how her mamma could try to spoil 
her pleasure. She soon retired to her room, 
and tried to forget her mother’s suffering 
chamber, in the preparations which she was 
making for her night of folly. About nine 
o’clock her carriage drove up, and Arthur 
Nelson was ready to accompany the giddy 
girl. Handing her in, he seated himself by 
her side: soon mother and all the twinges 
of conscience were forgotten, and in the 
ffush and excitement of the evening, again 


64 


THE MUSICAL BOX. 


she grieved the blessed Spirit, and hardened 
her heart still more. 

She returned late. Being exceedingly 
fatigued, she slept until eleven o’clock. On 
rising to dress, she told Annette to wind up 
her musical box; hut its notes sounded 
harshly, for with them were still mingled 
the memory of her mother’s pale, tearful 
face; the disappointments of the evening 
before; and some disturbing thoughts con- 
cerning the final end of her worldly life. 

In the waltz, she saw other beautiful 
forms encircled by the arm of Arthur Nel- 
son, and his eye as frequently attracted by 
others as herself: the thought was worm- 
wood, and imparted harshness to the other- 
wise fascinating music. 

“ Stop that music, Annette ; I cannot bear 
its sound; it sets me crazy.” 


THE SPIRIT CHIMES. 


65 


To an humble dwelling, far away from 
Augusta’s splendid home, w’e will pay our 
next visit. We will enter a neat little cham- 
ber. !N’ear a small work-table is seated a 
young girl, dressed in very plain and thread- 
bare mourning: her countenance wears a 
sweet expression of serenity; she is busily 
employed on a piece of embroidery; near 
her lies her well-used Bible : it is open, and 
occasionally she reads a line or two, which 
seems to light up her lovely face with smiles 
of happiness. Spirit chimes are singing 
their sweetest melody in the young heart; 
and occasionally they swell out of the beau- 
tiful lips, and the delicious silvery notes 
speak of the harmony that dwells within. 

A rose-bush and geranium stand in the 
windovr-sill, the bright sun shines cheerfully 
around, and the unseen spirit continues to 
sing its soothing songs to the young girl, as 

E 


66 


THE SPIRIT CHIMES. 


she busily plies her needle. She glances 
now and then at her fresh spring-flowers, 
and the chimes sing to her of trust in One, 
who cares more for her, than for the fairest 
flowers. She looks around her humble home, 
and the spirit sings to her of thankfulness 
for the neat little chamber, the bright sun- 
light, and her own perfect health. Again, 
as her eyes rest upon her piece of work, the 
same sweet spirit warbles to her of the good- 
ness which keeps her always supplied with 
means to aid her mother, that dear parent 
whom she so tenderly loves ; and the musi- 
cal chimes sing of the blessedness of aiding 
her to bear the burden of life. 

She looks upon her Bible, and again the 
spirit breathes notes, deep as the organ’s 
tone, of high and holy hopes beyond the 
grave. She raises her eyes to the bright 
blue sky, and the chimes are singing of a 


THE SPIRIT CHIMES. 


67 


home above this lower world, where God 
himself shall wipe away all tears from weep- 
ing eyes. While her spirit echoed such 
sweet harmony, her countenance expressed 
all the happy thoughts that passed so rapidly 
through her mind; and while thus plea- 
santly engaged, a little knock was heard at 
the door. 

‘^Who is there?” asked Lucy. 

“It is little Mary,” said the voice. 

“And what do you want, little Mary?” 

“Why, sister, I want you to untie my 
shoe-string; it is in a knot, and I cannot 
untie it.” 

Lucy arose, and opening the door, said: 
“Come in, little sister;” and, stooping down, 
she soon relieved the little girl; but she 
could not refrain from smiling, when she 
saw little Mary still standing in the room, 
with her finger in her mouth, and looking 


68 


THE SPIRIT CHIMES, 


up beseechingly in her face, as she said: 
‘‘Must I go away, sister Lucy? I won’t 
naake a noise, if you will let me stay.” 

“You may stay, Mary, and here is your 
book of pictures ; but you must not disturb 
me, for this work must be done to-night.” 

Lucy was scarcely seated, ere another tap 
was heard: “Sister, I want Mary,” cried 
another voice, and Lucy had to arise again 
to let him in. 

In came Edward, an older brother, and 
soon they were busy at a game of fun. Then 
came Harry with his lessons for Lucy to 
explain ; and her patience was by this time 
sorely tried, for she feared her work would 
not be ready, but she bade her brother read 
his lesson to her, and she kindly tried to 
make it plain. 

The rays of the setting sun shone still 
more brightly upon her labors of love, and 


THE SPIRIT CHIMES. 


69 


the chimes sang some cheering notes, as she 
conquered her impatient spirit. 

All day long she had plied her needle, and 
her work grew rapidly. She regarded it 
smilingly, for it was an expensive piece, 
worth three dollars, and she had reserved 
that, with some other money, for rent due 
the next day. 

Evening came, and, soon after the lamps 
were lighted, she completed her task, and 
giving it to Harry and Edward, sent it to 
Mrs. Spencer’s ; for it was a skirt for Augusta. 

In about an hour, the two boys returned, 
sadly disappointed, for they had been unsuc- 
cessful. 

“Whom did you see, Harry?” asked Lucy. 

“We saw a very proud young lady ; I sup- 
f pose that it was my cousin. Miss Augusta, 
for I have almost forgotten her. She was 
very cross, and told me to call again. I said. 


70 


THE SPIRIT CHIMES. 


‘ Sister Lucy will be very much disappointed, 
for she wants the money for our rent;’ and 
then she turned upon me, and said that we 
must be a set of beggars, if we were in need 
of three dollars. Just then, a gentleman 
with a kind face came forward. I think that 
he was very near, and overheard what Miss 
Augusta said, for when she went back to the 
parlor, he came to me, and said : ‘ My little 
man, are you distressed for rent ? Here are 
three dollars, take that home to your mother.’ 
I drew myself up, sister, and said: ‘We are 
not beggars, sir; I would rather not take the 
money; sister has earned three dollars in 
this house by her embroidery, and she ought 
to have it.’ ‘What is your name, my little 
man?’ and then I told him, sister, and 
where we lived, and all about my good 
mother and sister. Was I right not to take 
the money?” 


THE SPIRIT CHIMES. 


71 


‘‘You were, Harry, and Augusta was very 
cruel not to send it.” 

The truth was, that, having seen a rich 
collar which she fancied, not that she 
needed, she had spent the last of her monthly 
allowance that day; and Lucy had, therefore, 
to wait for her money. 

Augusta was very much afraid that Arthur 
Helson had heard her unfeeling speech to 
Harry Duncan ; for, when he returned to the 
parlor, he was very cool, and soon after took 
his leave. 

On the next morning, a ten dollar note 
came, enclosed to Mrs. Duncan, “from a 
friend;” and they all wondered who the kind 
friend could he. 

It was some time before Augusta could 
discharge her bill, for her father was not so 
lavish as formerly, and she observed that 
heavy clouds often rested upon his counte- 


72 


THE SPIRIT CHIMES. 


nance. Mrs. Spencer and Augusta both 
feared that some calamity was impending. 

She still continued, however, running up a 
bill with Lucy, until it amounted to so much 
that, painful as was the task, necessity com- 
pelled her to apply in person. 

After having spent a very sad day, in com- 
pany with Harry, she started for Augusta’s 
home, and, on asking to see her, was denied, 
on the plea that the young lady was pre- 
paring for an evening party, and could not 
be disturbed. 

Lucy was turning away with a heavy 
heart, when the parlor door opened, and, 
just as Augusta was mounting the stair- 
case, Lucy, with a quiet dignity, advanced, 
saying : 

Miss Spencer, I must see you ; we are in 
great distress, and if you refuse my just 
claim, I know not what we shall do. We 


THE SPIRIT CHIMES. 


73 


have a hard landlord, and I fear that he will 
turn us into the street. If you do not settle 
the account to-night, I must apply to your 
father.” 

‘‘You are a very impertinent person. Miss 
Duncan,” said Augusta; “when I am ready 
I will send you the money ; you must not 
trouble me to-night, I am engaged;” and 
haughtily she swept by. 

Lucy, taking her brother’s hand, with a 
tearful countenance, was turning away, when 
in the vestibule they met a gentleman, who 
immediately recognised the little boy, and, 
raising his hat, bowed respectfully to the 
interesting young girl, whose expression of 
deep distress touched his generous heart. 

He suspected something was extremely 
wrong in Augusta’s conduct, and, although 
he had been much fascinated by her beauty 
and grace, if once convinced of her heart- 


74 


THE SPIRIT CHIMES. 


lessness, the enchantment would be forever 
broken. 

‘‘ Sister, that is the gentleman who offered 
me three dollars,” said Harry. 

‘‘Let us hurry on, Harry, I do not wish 
him to see where we go,” replied Lucy. 

The next day Lucy presented her bill to 
Mr. Spencer, who, being really a kind man, 
was much displeased at Augusta’s conduct, 
and soon discharged the account, with the 
injunction to make no more such disgraceful 
bills. In the case of this young lady, we see 
an inordinate love of dress, so absorbing the 
heart as to destroy all that is good and noble, 
— duty to parents, sense of justice, time, 
health, — all are sacrificed to this low and 
selfish passion. 


I 


A SABLE CLOUD. 


75 


CHAPTER V. 

‘‘a sable cloud with a silver lining.” 

Troubles thickened around Mrs. Duncan : 
work was scarce, and there was great diffi- 
culty in collecting her money. Augusta 
was again in her debt ; for so bent was she 
on gratifying her love of dress, that she 
cared not who suffered, so that she was 
gratified. 

Among the families on whom Lucy w^as 
obliged to call, was Mrs. Spencer’s; and 
although she had but little hope of collect- 
ing her bill, she waited on her in the even- 
ing, but unsuccessfully: as she came out 
with her brother Henry, she stood for a 


76 


A SABLE CLOUD. 


minute or two under the lamp, to recover 
herself, ere she could proceed farther. 

Tears streamed down her cheeks, for she 
feared that the days of suffering for common 
necessaries were approaching. As she stood 
under the light, a gentleman passed her, 
who, looking earnestly at the sweet, pale 
face, recognised the lovely young girl whom 
he had met before, and, he suspected, on the 
same errand. 

He dare not accost her; but he remem- 
bered her residence, and resolved to send 
his sister next day to visit the family; for 
he was almost certain that they were suffer- 
ing severely; and from their appearance 
he judged rightly, that they were persons 
elevated in character, and who had seen 
better days. 

The next day was one of peculiar trial 
and distress. Compelled to run in debt for 


A SABLE CLOUD. 


77 


bread, the baker bad refused to trust them 
any longer. They worked from early in the 
morning until late at night ; and could they 
have obtained what they had earned, they 
would have been provided at least with the 
necessaries of life. 

In their sad emergency, Mrs. Duncan 
turned to Lucy, and said: ‘‘My dear, I 
shall have to ask you to perform a painful 
task for me : I must apply to some one for a 
loan : I have now fifty dollars out, which I 
cannot collect; but you see that we can 
obtain nothing, and I must borrow or starve : 
I shall have to send you with a note to Mr. 
Montgomery, one of your father’s friends: 
I know that he will lend me ten dollars, and 
we can repay him in a few weeks.” 

“ I will do anything, mamma, to aid you ; 
everything looks very dark ; but you know 
the old saying, ‘ That it is always the dark- 


78 


A SABLE CLOUD. 


est hour just before day.’ Perhaps God sends 
this hour to try our faith in Him.” 

In a short time, she set off on her unplea- 
sant errand : closely veiled, she threaded her 
way through the streets of business; her 
carriage was that of a lady, and her grace- 
ful appearance attracted much attention 
where it was so unusual to see a lady. 
When she reached Mr. Montgomery’s store, 
her heart beat violently, as she saw none 
but the faces of men, who stared at her in a 
rude manner. Hurrying up to one of the 
clerks, she asked for Mr. Montgomery, and 
was shown respectfully into a private room, 
where sat a gentleman of a benign aspect, 
who politely asked her to be seated. 

She trembled as she handed the note with 
tearful eyes to Mr. Montgomery, who, when 
he had read it, turned kindly to her, and 
said: ^^And have you been so long battling 


A SABLE CLOUD. 


79 


with a rough world, without applying to your 
father’s friend? ” 

Just then, she perceived a gentleman sit- 
ting at a desk, reading a newspaper. As he 
raised his eyes, she blushed deeply; for she 
recognised the same face that she had met 
at Augusta Spencer’s. He looked earnestly, 
but not rudely, at her ; and, seeing that her 
business was of a private nature, he deli- 
cately arose, and left the room. 

After listening to Lucy’s sad tale of be- 
reavement and suffering — of the treatment 
which she had received^ from some that she 
had served, Mr. Montgomery was deeply 
touched; and, going to his desk, drew out 
a check, filled it, and presenting it to Lucy 
enclosed in an envelope, he bade her always 
come to him, as her real friend. 

With tears of gratitude, she took her leave, 
blessing God for the kind friend Tvhich He 


80 


A SABLE CLOUD. 


had provided in the days of adversity. 
With a lightened spirit, she sought her 
home, and found her mother much more 
cheerful, saying that she had received a 
visit from a young lady, who styled herself 
Miss Nelson, and who had made some kind 
and delicate inquiries into their condition. 
She came to give orders for a large quantity 
of work, and paid five dollars in advance; 
stating that she had many friends, who 
would cheerfully patronize the family. 

A day commenced so sadly, had proved at 
last to he an era in their history. Their 
humble dwelling stood on the outskirts of 
the city : it was very lowly, but always neat. 
At the back of the house was a small piazza, 
which opened on to a very pleasant garden, 
kept in order by the boys, filled with fiowers, 
which they had raised chiefly from seeds. 
It was a dear little spot, and was Mrs. Dun- 


A SABLE CLOUD. 


81 


can’s and Lucy’s favorite seat, after the 
labors of the day. 

There had been a thunder-shower in the 
afternoon : towards evening, they stood toge- 
ther on the piazza, watching the clouds as 
the storm abated. Gradually it ceased; and 
about sunset, masses of dark clouds bounded 
the horizon — all of which,, on the side 
towards heaven, were bordered with a bright 
silver edge. The blackness was rapidly roll- 
ing away, and the increasing brightness of 
the setting sun illumined the whole land- 
scape. 

Mamma, look at those splendid clouds,” 
said Lucy, ‘‘see how bright and silvery is 
the border which lies nearest heaven. How 
much it seems to me like to-day’s history! 
‘Every sable cloud has a silver lining,’ and 
truly has it been so to-day. Our prospects 
were never so dark; for the last week, the 

F 


82 


A SABLE CLOUD. 


clouds Lave hung heavily over us, but the 
sun was still shining behind them. The 
silver lining has appeared in the kindness 
of Mr. Montgomery, and the blessed visit of 
sweet Miss Nelson. I feel, mamma, as if 
we liad found some real Christian friends. 
Don’t let us ever distrust our Heavenly 
Father.” 

With an arm encircling her daughter’s 
waist, they passed into the house, and sweet 
were the peaceful slumbers which closed a 
day commenced with such dark and ominous 
forebodings. 

Next morning dawned brightly. The 
whole atmosphere seemed filled with joy- 
ous sounds and sights; and never had the 
chimes sang more sweetly than on this day, 
when they warbled of a Father’s love, caring 
so much more for his children than for the 
lilies of the field. 


A SABLE CLOUD. 


83 


In the course of the week. Miss Nelson 
called. She saw at a glance that Lucy was 
> cultivated, refined, beautiful, and she treated 
her with all that deference which a noble 
nature feels for one in all respects her equal, 
save in the position in which it had pleased 
a wise Providence to place her. 

Their conversation turned upon subjects 
interesting to both, for, with the true delicacy 
of a Christian lady, no allusion was made to 
work, or anything which could for one mo- 
ment remind Lucy of the difference in their 
spheres of life. 

Miss Nelson’s visit was one of friendship, 
and Lucy was charmed with her interesting 
manners and conversation. 

‘‘ May I ask the favor of a call. Miss Dun- 
can ; it would give me the highest pleasure 
to number you among my friends.” 

‘‘ If I knew, Miss Nelson, at what time you 


/ 


84 


A SABLE CLOUD. 


are alone, I would accept your invitation, but 
I cannot meet strangers.” 

The young lady took her leave, delighted 
with her new acquaintance, and Lucy felt as 
if she had really gained a friend. 

In a few days. Miss ITelson called again, 
but it was late in the afternoon, and, as she 
staid until evening, Lucy wondered how she 
would get home. In a few minutes, a ring 
at the front door announced an arrival, and 
a gentleman was ushered into the room, wLo 
asked for Miss hTelson. Lucy raised her 
eyes, and, with a blushing face, recognised 
the handsome stranger whom she had met at 
Augusta’s, and who was now introduced to 
her as Miss ITelson’s brother. 

Although a young man of the world, there 
was a high moral tone in his character, and 
that really gentlemanly deportment, which 
springs from a cultivated mind. Long dis- 


A SABLE CLOUD. 


85 


gusted with the heartless frivolity of the 
fashionable world, Lucy’s freshness and sim- 
plicity were peculiarly charming. 

He had the tact of drawing out her remarks 
upon such subjects, as proved that she had 
a well-disciplined mind and delicate taste. 
Though compelled to labor for her support, 
it did not lessen, in the smallest degree, the 
respect which he felt for her really noble and 
lovely character. 

Moreover, he had discovered, by some un- 
known means, the contemptible manner in 
which she had been treated by Augusta 
Spencer, and he resolved, by all proper 
modes, to manifest the reverence which he 
felt for the high character of Lucy Duncan. 

Mrs. Helson was a worldly woman, and 
much wedded to the customs of the fashion- 
able world. She was often annoyed by the 
disregard of her independent son for what 


86 


A SABLE CLOUD. 


slie deemed the proper requirements of 
society, and often lectured him on the eccen- 
tricity of his conduct; and even her daughter, 
she thought, was not particular enough in her 
intimacies, especially in her attentions to 
Lucy Duncan. 

“ Maria, you certainly would not introduce 
Miss Duncan, your seamstress, among your 
fashionable friends.” 

‘‘She does not wish, mamma, for such 
society ; hut she is my best friend, and, on 
her own account, entitled to the choice 
society of the land ; but, as it is constituted, 
she does not wish to force herself upon the 
notice of the gay or fashionable. When- 
ever I can, I wish to invite her to take 
tea, or spend an evening socially with me ; 
and should she happen to meet any of my 
friends, I shall see that they respect the 
character of Lucy Duncan.” 


A SABLE CLOUD. 


87 


“ Do you encourage Arthur’s attentions to 
the young girl ? ” 

‘‘Why, mamma, Arthur scarcely knows 
her, although I really think he admires her; 
and should he fancy her seriously, I shall be 
too much rejoiced.” 

“But, Maria, do you indeed suppose that 
I will countenance such absurd folly ? ” 

“What will you do, mamma? Arthur is 
of age, has a very independent spirit, and 
can do just as he pleases.” 

“ I will never countenance her, rest assured, 
Maria.” 

When enjoying the pleasant evenings 
which Maria and her brother so frequently 
enlivened, little did Lucy imagine how often 
she was the innocent subject of contentioD, 
between the proud mother, and her only son. 

A book to be bought, a flower presented, 
a pleasant walk, — all w'ere convenient ex- 


88 


A SABLE CLOUD. 


cuses for calling at a house where there 
were so many attractions ; and Lucy un- 
consciously looked forward to the evenings, 

\ 

as the little oases in her pilgrimage, which 
so sweetly cheered her in her way. Often 
did Maria, and even her fashionable brother, 
accompany her to the evening lecture which 
she weekly attended at the Eev. Mr. Went- 
Avorth’s church; and, judging innocently, 
that Arthur Avent there from increasing in- 
terest in serious things, fervent were the 
prayers Avhich she nightly addressed to Hea- 
ven, for her youthful benefactor and friend. 

Several times, Lucy had called upon Maria 
at her own house, but she had never yet seen 
Mrs. Helson. One afternoon, Maria insisted 
on her remaining to tea; and at the table 
she Avas introduced to the haughty lady, 
Avho Avas really struck by Lucy’s beauty, 
and alarmed by the charms of her lady-like 


A SABLE CLOUD. 


89 


deportment. But although Mrs. IlTelson was 
too proud to receive her cordially, she was 
too polite ever to forgot that she was the 
hostess : there was, moreover, that dignity 
about Lucy which would have repelled rude- 
ness ; consequently, the proud lady treated 
her with extreme, thought distant; courtesy. , 
The young girl seemed as if she had been 
all her life used to refinement ; and her quiet 
grace rather surprised Mrs. ITelson, who ex- 
pected to see a bashful girl, quite over- 
powered by the elegance of her establish- 
ment. : ' ' , 

Lucy, however, saw that she was not a 
welcome guest ; for, on politely taking leave 
of her for the evening, Mrs. iJTelson did not 
invite her to repeat her visit. The mother 
was more than ever alarmed after she had 
seen Lucy; for, knowing her son’s contempt 
for merely fashionable ladies, she was sure 


90 


A SABLE CLOUD. 


that he must be captivated by the unaffected 
loveliness of sweet Lucy Duncan. 

What should she do ? Could she forbid 
the intimacy? ]^o; that would only expe- 
dite the catastrophe.” She would interest 
herself in their afiairs, and try to get them 
away from the city. Her course w^as decided 
upon. To lull their fears, she expressed 
her admiration of the sweet girl, and said 
but little of her disapprobation of the ac- 
quaintance. Arthur and Maria were sur- 
prised, delighted; and when, in a few days 
after, Mrs. Helson asked to call upon Mrs. 
Duncan, they could scarcely believe the evi- 
dence of their own senses. However, Maria 
took her mother, who, during her visit, ex- 
pressed her interest in their afiairs, and gave 
some ostentatious orders for work. She la- 
mented the necessity there was for their 
toiling so hard, and asked: “Would it not 


A SABLE CLOUD. 


91 


be better, Mrs. Duncan, with your talents 
and education, to open a boarding-school 
for young ladies ? Lucy would make such 
a charming teacher.” 

“ That is what I have long desired, Mrs. 
ITelson ; but I have not enough influential 
friends to aid me in such an undertaking, 
nor the means whereby to purchase the ne- 
cessary furniture.” 

‘‘You may rely on me, dear madam, as 
one who will spare no pains to make in- 
quiries for such an opening ; and I think a 
few wealthy friends could aid you with the 
furniture.” 

“ Thank you, Mrs. Kelson : God has been 
very good in raising me up such kind friends.” 

Mrs. Kelson blushed; for she felt con- 
demned, when conscious of the real motives 
which prompted her actions. 


92 


C 11 OSS PURPOSES. 


CHAPTER VI. 

CROSS PURPOSES. 

As soon as the plan of a boarding-school 
was named, Arthur and Maria eagerly caught 
at the idea ; for they could not bear to see 
Lucy, with all her talents, wasting them on 
mere . needlework. 

Maria,” said Arthur, “you shall be my 
agent. Go look for a suitable house : I will 
see that the furniture is provided ; and you 
can interest yourself among your numerous 
friends, to obtain pupils. When twenty are 
secured, they would be justified in com- 
mencing.” 

Mrs. Helson was equally busy, but not at 
all aware of the activity of her children. In 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


93 


the quiet little parlor, many happy hours 
were passed by the youthful friends; and 
Mrs. Duncan was delighted on finding that 
her sweet daughter was appreciated. On a 
winter evening, we will behold the little 
group gathered around the parlor-grate in 
Mrs. Duncan’s pleasant home. Everything 
was extremely simple and neat; no article 
of luxury, save the piano, was visible ; plain 
muslin curtains shaded the windows, and 
imparted a tasteful appearance to the little 
room. 

Mrs. Duncan and Lucy were busy with 
their needle, and Miss Nelson was occupied 
in netting a scarf; while Arthur was read- 
ing to them . from some of their favorite 
poets. They were all fond of poetry; and, 
as he possessed a melodious voice, and was 
a fine reader, it was a source of great enjoy- 
ment. 


94 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


At nine o’clock, Lucy put by her work, 
and took her seat at the piano, where for an 
hour she delighted her hearers with her 
charming music. Arthur, especially, hung 
entranced over the young musician, nor 
stopped to ask the question of his heart — 
To what might all this intimacy lead ? All 
that he knew or cared for, was that Lucy 
Duncan was his beau ideal of a lovely 
woman; and that, could he once obtain a 
place in her affections, he should esteem 
himself a happy man. Lucy, in her simple 
attire, was more charming to him than all 
the fine ladies that he had ever seen ; and 
when he contrasted her pure loveliness with 
Augusta’s glitter and display, he wondered 
how he could ever have been fascinated by 
such a toy. 

‘‘There will be a very fine concert to- 
morrow evening,” said Arthur to Mrs. Dun- 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


95 


can. “Will you permit Lucy to accompany 
Maria and myself?” 

Mrs. Duncan, willing to allow all reason- 
able recreation to her daughter, consented; 
and ere they took their leave for the even- 
ing, the party was arranged. Lucy was very 
happy in her new friends: her toils were 
lightened by their sympathy, and her even- 
ing hours sweetly cheered by their society: 
her days were peaceful, and her evenings 
joyous. 

All the next day, she was musing on her 
present happiness ; and when evening came, 
at an early hour her friends called, and she 
accompanied them to the concert. Arthur 
recognised several of his gay and fashion- 
able friends, who wondered who the interest- 
ing girl was, on whom he bestowed so much 
attention. 

Mary De Lancey, wLo sat near, remem- 


96 


CROSS PURPOSES, 


bered the young girl, and whispered to her 
companion : ‘‘ Did you ever see such an 
oddity as Arthur I^elson? Would you be- 
lieve it, that he has actually brought our 
seamstress to-night to the concert?” 

‘‘It cannot be possible,” replied her friend. 

“It is even so; but really I do not won- 
der : she is certainly one of the most lovely 
and lady-like persons in the room.” 

“ I wonder what his mother thinks of it,” 
was the answer. “ Just look at her ; she is 
sitting near them, and is watching them with 
Argus eyes.” 

“Her pride will never brook such an 
intimacy, mark my words,” said Miss De 
Lance}". 

Arthur was so much engrossed by the 
delight manifested by his fair companion, 
that he did not, for some time, perceive 
how closely 'he was watched by his mother; 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


97 


but when he perceived her, he bowed po- 
litely, and received in return a freezing re- 
cognition. Mrs. ITelson was highly indig- 
nant; and now understood the reason why 
Arthur refused so many invitations out, and 
who it was that engrossed his evenings. 
She secretly determined to leave no means 
untried to get them out of the city; and 
was busily engaged in making inquiries, 
and writing to distant places in the South 
and West. At last, much to her satisfac- 
tion, she received an answer from Memphis, 
stating that there was just such a person 
needed there. The names of twenty-five 
young ladies were sent, from desirable fami- 
lies, who v/ould pay in advance to any one 
who should come with good references. Mrs. 
ITelson called on Mrs. Duncan without delay, 
with her letter in her hand, urging her 
acceptance. 


G 


98 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


‘‘I am greatly obliged to you, madam; 
but I must weigh the matter carefully, ere 
I decide upon such an important step. The 
opportunity of educating my two younger 
daughters is very tempting ; and as there is 
also an excellent school for boys, I really 
feel almost tempted to accept.” 

Mrs. Kelson said no more at this time, but 
inwardly rejoiced at the prospect of their 
removal. She mentioned the opening to 
her children, with rather an indiflerent man- 
ner, saying that she thought it was a pity 
that such persons should be so buried as 
they were now, when such brilliant pros- 
pects were opening before them. 

Arthur smiled to himself, and thought: 
«My good mother, I have other plans for 
them; but not a word upon the subject 
too soon.” 

When he next called, Mrs. Duncan laid 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


99 


the matter before him. He did not really 
discourage it, but said : “ My dear madam, 
you need not decide until spring. Some- 
thing may open here in your own city, 
where you are more acquainted.” 

‘‘I feel inclined to accept the offer; the 
advantages are so great for my children.* 

Lucy drooped at the idea of leaving her 
dear friends; and when her mother talked 
about it daily, she feared that separation 
was inevitable; but, having a pious and 
well-disciplined character, she endeavored to 
school her heart to obey whatever should be 
clearly ascertained as duty. 

Lucy’s spirits seemed so much depressed, 
that Mrs. Duncan became really uneasy, and 
wondered why it was so, when there was 
really, in her opinion, so much that was 
bright and promising in their prospects. She 
knew not the secret of Lucy’s heart, any 


100 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


more than the young girl knew herself. 
Arthur, distressed to see her so often sad, 
sought to win her again to her former cheer- 
fulness. 

“Lucy,” — for he had learned to call her 

by that name — “will you not walk with me 

% 

this evening? I have something to say to 
you, which I think will cheer you.” 

“ Shall I go, mamma ? ” 

“ Certainly, my dear. I think the walk 
will do you good.” 

She was soon ready, and, taking Arthur’s 
arm, they proceeded for some time in silence. 

“Why are you so sad, Lucy?” asked her 
friend. “It grieves me to see you so 
changed.” ' 

“ I cannot help it, Mr. Helson. The pros- 
pect of leaving my home, and going among 
strangers, and when I have just found such 
kind friends, is a great trial to my feelings; 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


101 


and I am endeavoring to school myself for 
the step ; but in the struggle, there must be 
something of 'sorrow, though I trust not a 
want of submission.” 

‘‘I hope that there maybe no necessity for 
such a removal. Maria and I have a plan on 
foot for you, which now gives great prospects 
of success. We have not spoken to you 
upon the subject before, because we feared 
to raise hopes which might never be realised; 
but have been for weeks engaged in our 
plans, and now we have every prospect of 
final success. We think that there is a fine 
opening here for a boarding and day-school, 
and Maria has succeeded in obtaining twenty 
pupils, from some of the very best families : 
all we need now is a house: we have several 
in view : it will take some time to furnish 
it : it is not necessary for you to move until 
spring, which will be here in six weeks : in 

t » 


102 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


the meanwhile, do not speak of it to my 
mother.” 

“How can I thank you, my kind friend I” 
said Lucy, as with grateful tears, she heard 
of Arthur’s benevolent plan. 

“It is the very joy of my heart to serve 
you, Lucy: you can never know how happy 
it makes me to minister to your comfort.” 

This was spoken with such a gush of feel- 
ing, that even unsuspecting Lucy was some- 
what abashed, and was silent for awhile. 

“You could not be kinder to me if you ' 
were my brother,” at length whispered Lucy. 

“I fear that you would not find me so 
disinterested, could you read my heart.” 

“I am so glad that we need not go away 
from home : I should be so lonesome with- 
out Maria,” answered Lucy. 

“Would you not miss me too, Lucy? I 
should not know what to do without you.” 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


103 


“ I should be very ungrateful not to miss 
one who has been so kind,” said the young 
girl, in a low voice ; while her hand slightly 
shrank away from the supporting arm. 

Arthur was again silent: at last he spoke : 
‘‘And is it only a sister’s love that you can 
give me, Lucy ? I cannot be satisfied with 
that — I seek a nearer and dearer place in 
your young heart.” 

Conscious, for the first time, that she really 
loved Arthur i^elson, with a woman’s intui- 
tive modesty, she hesitated for an answer. 

“ Can you not speak to me, Lucy? Have 
[ oftended you ? ” 

“ Oh no ! Arthur — Mr. Helson. Can it be 
right for me to listen to such language ? I 
fear that your mother would be greatly dis- 
pleased.” 

“ Only say, Lucy, that you do not reject 
my suit, and there is nothing else to fear.” 


104 


•CROSS PURPOSES. 


They were just then passing under a bright 
lamp; and as Arthur looked into Lucy’s 
blushing face, he read the answer of, a heart 
all his own, as she modestly bowed her head, 
and laid her little hand in his. 

‘‘Thank you, dearest Lucy: this is a richer 
gift than aught than an empress can bestow.” 

They walked slowly home, and Lucy con- 
fided to her mother all that had passed ; and 
she answered: “For this world, my daughter, 
Arthur is all that I would desire ; but for the 
next, will he help you on to Heaven ? Ee- 
member that he is not a Christian, and we 
are commanded not to be unequally yoked. 
It would be well to ask for guidance, ere 
you take a step of so much importance.” ; 

Lucy’s bright expression of happiness va- 
nished, and was quickly succeeded by one 
of deep solemnity, as she replied : “ I will, 
dear mamma ; and whatever seems to be my 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


105 


duty, I trust that I shall willingly perform ; 
hut what do you think, mamma, of the 
boarding-school ? ” 

‘‘ It seems, my child, to come from God : 
let us ask Him to direct us here also.” 

Lucy’s evening devotions were more ear- 
nest and solemn than usual; and having 
committed her earthly destiny entirely to 
the disposal of her Heavenly Father, she 
reposed calmly beneath His protecting care. 

When Maria was informed ' of what had 
passed, she hastened to her dear friend, and 
embracing her, said : ‘‘ You will he my sis- 
ter yet.” 

“Hot so fast, my friend. There are 
many things to he considered. Your mo- 
ther and my duty will he most carefully 
weighed.” 

“But you will not reject the offer of the 


school?” 


106 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


“ My mother has not yet replied : in a few 
days she will give an answer.” 

The thought of having won a heart so 
good and noble as Arthur I^relson’s, filled 
her young bosom with fioods of happiness at 
first; but the more she reflected, the more 
deeply did she fear that the blessing of God 
would not rest upon her choice, unless he 
were also a Christian. 

Though Arthur respected religion, she 
feared that it was for her sake; and she 
asked her heart, how she could bear the 
thought of having for a partner for life, one 
who was not a fellow-heir of the grace of 
the Gospel? He had hinted several times 
that he thought her too strict ; and if, when 
he had claims upon her obedience as a hus- 
band, he should require her to violate her 
sense of duty to God, what happiness could 
she expect ? 


CKOSS PURPOSES. 


107 


And yet she truly loved Arthur, with all 
a woman’s deep devotion; and felt that to 
cast away his love, would cost her hitter 
pangs. Then came the thought of his proud 
mother : she was almost sure that she would 
not countenance his choice; and she could 
never enter a family clandestinely, or where 
she would not be a welcome guest. These 
thoughts frequently distressed her, and stole 
the color from her cheeks, and the light from 
her eyes; but still Arthur’s visits were sources 
of great happiness ; and after Mrs. Duncan 
had agreed to the plan concerning the board- 
ing-school, their evenings were frequently 
spent in planning their arrangements, and 
in making out a list of what was needed. 
Arthur and Maria undertook the whole: 
Mrs. hfelson was still urging the acceptance 
of the offer from Memphis, and wondered 
why Mrs. Duncan hesitated so long to give 


108 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


an answer, and why she manifested so much 
indifference. She began to fear for the suc- 
cess of her plans. 

‘When all was ready, Maria announced to 
Mrs. Duncan that they would take posses- 
sion on the following Monday. Accordingly, 
on Saturday they spent their last evening 
together in their humble home : it was some- 
what sad, for they had passed many happy 
hours in that pleasant parlor; and though 
their prospects were brighter, all was an un- 
tried future ; and they endeavored, in trust- 
ing faith, to commit their all entirely to God. 

On Monday morning, they removed to 
their new home ; and were overcome with 
gratitude when they saw what a convenient 
and pleasant house had been provided, and 
furnished with every comfort. During the 
week, they were busily engaged in making 
all their final arrangements, and seeing pa- 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


109 


rents who were applying for seats for their 
children. On the following . week, school 
was opened. Everything was bright and 
cheery; and when Mrs. Dnncan met the 
young ladies in her pleasant school-room, 
her heart rose up in humble gratitude, first 
to the Giver of all her blessings, and next 
to the kind friends who had been the instru- 
ments of all her present prosperity. 

One morning, Mrs. Duncan was called 
down into the parlor, and who should arise 
to greet her but Mrs. ISTelson, who with a 
cold salutation said: “I have called, madam, 
to ask your decision concerning the ofier 
which I brought you; but your present 
home is a sufficient answer. I presume 
that you have friends more powerful and 
able than I.” 

‘‘I have been greatly blessed, Mrs. Nel- 
son. God is very good to the widow: He 


110 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


has raised me up many kind friends. I am 
still grateful to you for the interest which 
you have manifested ; but you cannot blame 
me for wishing to remain in my native 
place.” 

I appreciate your motives, madam, and 
think that I understand them perfectly. You 
may yet meet with a disappointment in some 
of your plans.' Good morning, madam;” 
and the haughty lady swept out of the room, 
and entered her carriage. 

Mrs. Duncan felt that she had been in- 
sulted, but could not fully understand her 
hints. She communicated all to her daughter, 
but not a word to Arthur, for she knew that 
it would pain his heart. The following day, 
Lucy received the subjoined note : 

‘‘ To Miss Duncan — 

Having learned the whole story of 
my son’s infatuation for a nameless girl, 


CROSS PURPOSES. Ill 

and also of the part which my children have 
taken, without my knowledge, in providing 
your mother with a home, I write these few 
lines to say, that you need not expect any 
countenance from me. If he has been the 
dupe of designing persons, it is hut right 
that they should know the decision of his 
mother. 

‘‘Sarah IsTelson.” 

Lucy was confounded and distressed at 
such unfeeling coarseness ; but her decision 
was taken at once, although it cost her hit- 
ter struggles. When Arthur next called, 
Lucy met him, not with her usual warm and 
open welcome, but with a downcast counte- 
nance and tearful eyes. She extended her 
hand, and with a trembling voice addressed 
him. 

“What ails my Lucy?” exclaimed Arthur. 

“Alas! my friend, we must part. I 



112 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


cannot enter a family where I am so much 
despised.” 

^^What do you mean, Lucy?” 

‘‘Eead that, Arthur;” and she handed 
him the cruel letter. 

He hit his lips with anguish, while he 
read the words. And do you mean, Lucy, 
to cast me off, on account of the pride of 
my haughty mother ? ” 

“Arthur, I cannot cause contention be- 
tween a mother and her son. I should lose 
my self-respect, and yours also ; and indeed 
it seems to me like an indication from my 
Heavenly Father, that He does not smile 
upon our choice.” 

“ Can you be so cruel, for a mere preju- 
dice, to cast away a heart that must love you 
always?” 

“Arthur, you know not what it costs me. 
Your affection is one of the sweet balms 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


11:3 


i 

which has been vouchsafed to me; and now, 
when evening comes, and I shall wait for 
you in vain, life indeed will, seem a wilder- 
ness; but I know my duty, Arthur; it must 
be so. And now farewell, my friend : it is 
useless to prolong this hour of parting. God 
bless you, Arthur, forever and ever.” And 
Lucy advanced to him, as he was leaning on 
the mantle-piece, and groaning in the bitter- 
ness of his spirit. “ Will you not say fare- 
well, Arthur?” 

“I cannot, Lucy; I wdll not; you may 
cast me from you ; but I shall never cease 
to love you.” 

Bathed in tears, Lucy gently left the room, 
and entering her chamber, threw herself on 
her knees, and prayed for grace to bear this 
hour of sorrow. She arose comforted; for 
who was ever rejected that casts their burden 
of sorrow upon their Heavenly Friend ? 


II 


114 CEOBS PUEPOSES. 

The next day, she received the following 
hurried lines from Arthur : 

“Deaeest Lucy — 

“I cannot leave my native shore with- 
out a parting line. I sail in a month for 
Europe. I am not trying to forget you — I 
never shall ; hut I cannot remain in the same 
house with a mother, who has so cruelly 
blighted my prospects. 

“I will endeavor, dearest, to seek your 
blessed source of comfort. I find that I can 
say of all other sources, ‘ Miserable comfort- 
ers are ye all!’ Perhaps, dear friend, it 
needed this blow to drive me to a Divine 
Kedeemer. Pray for me : write, if it be 
only a friendly letter : you must not forget 
me. In great haste, 

“Yours ever. 


“ Aethue.” 


THE FLOUNCED ROBE. 


115 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE FLOUNCED ROBE. 

Changes scarcely to be accounted for, 
seemed gradually stealing over the affairs 
of Mr. Spencer. It was during a period of 
great commercial distress, that he became 
so deeply involved with some large houses 
that'liad failed, that he lost many thousands; 
every day the atmosphere darkened, and his 
prospects became still more threatening. 

He wore a morose and gloomy aspect, and 
when asked for money, frequently replied : 
“ That they must be less extravagant: it was 
no longer in his power to spend as he had 
done.” 

Mrs. Spencer, instead of sympathizing, re- 


116 


THE FLOUNCED ROBE. 


proached liim; and Augusta, when denied 
her usual indulgences, would reply by pas- 
sionate hysterics, or sullen gloom, just as the 
humor suited her. Tired of such scenes, the 
w^eak father would frequently grant her de- 
mands, even against his better judgment; 
and learning from such experience how to 
overcome, she scrupled not to use her power, 
without any regard to consequences. Her 
passion for dress and show was so intense, 
that, like the drunkard’s, the desire must be 
gratified by any means. So selfish had she 
become, that, although she saw how greatly 
her father w^as suffering, she persevered in 
her heartlessness. 

At last, the great crisis arrived; the rich 
Mr. Spencer failed for an immense amount. 
His chief creditor was Mr. Eandolph, who, 
being a remarkably excellent man, was dis- 
posed to be merciful. 


THE FLOUNCED ROBE. 


117 


On examining Mr. Spencer’s affairs, there 
seenaed to be such a disposition to he per- 
fectly upright, that Mr. Eandolph was will- 
ing to grant an extension of five years : this 
influenced his other creditors, who made a 
like arrangement. 

Mr. Spencer, in spite of the entreaties of 
his wife and the hysterics of his daughter, 
sold his town and country-house, his car- 
riage, and the most elegant portion of his 
furniture ; took a smaller house, though still 
too handsome for his means ; and otherwise 
reduced his whole style of living. His wife 
and daughter were still determined to keep 
up appearances ; and hitter was the warfare 
which he was often called upon to wage with 
their absurd and wicked pride. 

“My wife,” he would often say, “we must 
retrench, and we must let the world know it. 
I owe too much money to be making a show; 


118 THE FLOUNCED .ROBE. 

if we do so, my creditors will push for 
a settlement, and we must be wholly 
wrecked.” 

“You are nervous, Mr. Spencer,” she would 
reply: “you imagine evils which do not exist, 
and you certainly ought to provide for your 
family first.” 

“If you will only aid me, Mary, in five 
years I can be clear of the world again ; hut 
it must he by strict economy; and mark 
what I say, any appearance of extravagance 
will hurry on our ruin.” 

Mrs. Spencer and Augusta still endeavored 
to retain their fashionable circle of friends, 
or rather acquaintances; for they were ra- 
pidly learning the real value of their friend- 
ship. They still went shopping in the fash- 
ionable stores, gave small 'parties, and in 
many ways exceeded their means, and brought 
upon themselves many censorious remarks. 


THE FLOUNCED KOBE. 


119 


But the shackles of fashion are not easily 
broken, and they were still its slaves. 

One morning in autumn, they set out on 
a shopping tour ; and after having travelled 
the usual round, and exhausted the patience 
of many who waited upon them, at last they 
returned to Levy’s, and asked to see some 
flounced dresses, several of which were shown 
to them. Augusta admired them greatly, hut 
none suited her so well as a rich puiple robe, 
with elegant flounces. 

In her eagerness, she did not observe 
Louisa Eandolph, who was standing near 
her, and listening to her silly remarks. She 
looked with great contempt upon her airs 
of consequence, when she remembered Mr. 
Spencer was in debt to her father flfty thou- 
sand dollars. Augusta rattled on: “Mamma, 
this would he a beautiful dress for Mrs. Lisle’s 
dinner-party: you know that it is to take 


120 


THE FLOUNCED ROBE* 


place next week.” And yet it was a fact, 
that since their downfall, Mrs. Lisle had 
completely dropped their acquaintance, and 
Augusta had not the least idea that they 
would receive an invitation. She whis- 
pered a few words to her mother, who was 
really alarmed at the thought of the expen- 
sive dress ; but had not the courage to deny 
her daughter, and consented that it should 
be sent home for Mr. Spencer’s inspection. 

Louisa Eandolph heard the order for it to 
to he sent home, and therefore concluded 
that it was purchased. She also heard Au- 
gusta say; “iNow, mamma, we must get a 
mantilla and bonnet, to correspond with the 
dress;” and, ordering a handsome mantilla 
with the dress, they proceeded to Madame 
Le Key’s for millinery. 

Louisa went home, full of what she had 
seen and heard ; and at the dinner-table re- 


THE FLOUNCED ROBE. 


121 


lated the events of the morning. “ I do not 
think, papa, that you need have been so very 
considerate towards Mr. Spencer; for they 
seem to he as extravagant as ever, and, from 
what I heard, I think that your compassion 
is all misplaced, and that you are only afford- 
ing them the means of further extravagance.” 

“Let us be slow in judging, my daughter, 
and I will observe more particularly; and 
if I find that your statements are at all 
well founded, matters must be brought to a 
conclusion.” 

The robe, however, ’svas sent home. At 
dinner, it w'as the great subject of. dispute. 

“What is the cost, Augusta?” 

“ Only fifty dollars, pa : you know that I 
have often given a hundred, and this is very 
cheap.” 

“It is more than I can afibrd, Augusta.” 

“But, papa, you have not given me a dress 


122 


THE FLOUNCED ROBE. 


for a whole year, and my wardrobe is all 
becoming shabby.” 

I am afraid, my child, that it will do us 
a great injury, should you be seen with such 
a dress.” 

Augusta began to cry, and Mr. Spencer 
(who, though wishing to do right, had not 
always strength enough to resist) consented 
in an unfortunate moment to make the ex- 
travagant purchase, and, worse than all, to 
run in debt for the robe; though with the 
understanding that, if unable to pay the bill, 
Augusta was to discharge it, out of a small 
amount of money which an aunt had left 
her, but which had never yet been touched. 
Then the mantilla and bonnet were dis- 
cussed. Before dinner was over, Augusta 
had gained the day: future circumstances 
revealed the fearful cost of that flounced 
robe. 


THE FLOUNCED ROBE. 


123 


All were purchased; and when Augusta 
appeared at church, for the first time arrayed 
in her elegant costume, Louisa Eandolph re- 
marked; ‘‘You see, papa, that I was correct: 
that is the very robe.” 

“ I see, my daughter ; and I am not only 
surprised, hut deeply indignant.” 

A few days after, Augusta tried to have it 
reported that she was going to give a large 
party; the evening w’as fixed upon, hut 
Louisa Eandolph was not invited. Augusta 
had foolishly spoken of it to some young 
friends, endeavoring to give the impression 
that it would he a handsome afiair; hut the 
truth was, about one dozen were invited to 
spend a social evening; and, in order to keep 
up appearances, about nine o’clock the ves- 
tibule door was opened, and the house 
lighted up, so as to make it appear that a 
large party was invited. 


124 


THE FLOUNCE H ROBE. 


About ten o’clock, Louisa Eandolpb passed 
by; and, seeing tlie House so brilliantly 
lighted, concluded that the report was all 
correct. She communicated all to her father, 
who secretly resolved upon his course. Ac- 
cordingly, at the end of the month, Mr. 
Spencer received a notice, that Mr. Ran- 
dolph’s claim must be met in thirty days. 
Almost distracted, he hurried to the count- 
ing-room of that gentleman, and begged 
further indulgence, asking why there was 
such a change in his conduct. 

‘‘When I thought,” said Mr. Randolph, 
“ that you were acting in an upright, honest 
manner, I was disposed to be merciful ; but 
when I find that you can purchase fifty- 
dollar robes, and give expensive parties — 
when your daughter still boasts of her ex- 
travagance, I can forbear no longer. Our 
accounts must be settled: good morning. 


THE FLOUNCED ROBE. 


125 


sir;” and Mr. Randolpli retired to an inner 
rodm, leaving Mr. Spencer standing the very 
image of despair. He clapped his hands to 
his temples, and rushing furiously out of the 
store, flew to his wretched home, with the 
hot haste of a madman. Rudely pushing 
hy his daughter, whom he met in the hall, 
he hurried into his chamber, where, locking 
the door, he continued for hours to pace the 
floor in agony. 

His wife knocked repeatedly, hut was 
denied admittance, receiving no other an- 
swer hut dismal groans. After some hours, 
he opened the door: his haggard counte- 
nance, his bloodshot eyes, and tangled hair 
so disfigured her husband, that even she was 
at length fearfully alarmed. 

“ What is the matter, Mr. Spencer ? ” 

‘‘We are ruined, madam ; my prophecy is 
fulfilled. I told you of this result; you would 


I 



126 


THE FLOUNCED ROBE. 


not believe it. Augusta’s extravagance and 
folly have hastened the catastrophe. The 
new flounced dress, and the party of which 
she has boasted, have all been exaggerated ; 
and my creditors are demanding settlement. 
Mr. Eandolph, my chief creditor, demands 
my note in thirty days. I cannot meet it ; 
we are wholly bankrupt. In thirty days we 
shall have no home ; and all this comes from 
Augusta’s excessive love of dress, which can 
take no denial.” 

Mrs. Spencer sank down appalled; she had 
not looked for such a result. She was speech- 
less; but when Augusta heard of the conse- 
quences of her folly, her chief regrets were 
for her own losses, and not for her father’s 
sufferings. 

How can I ever live in a small house ? 
How can I ever do without a waiting-maid ? 
I can never wear common clothes. What 


THE FLOUNCED ROBE. 


127 


shall we do ? Who will take care of 

US?” 

Each day, their troubles multiplied ; de- 
spair seemed to settle upon Mr. Spencer. 
For hours he sat as one stupefied; and when 
alone, locked in his room, his groans were 
terrible ; the prospect of poverty was insup- 
portable. With no refuge to fiy to, no shel- 
tering arms to enfold the wretched family, 
they were sad illustrations of the misery of 
those, who suffer without the aid of a sympa- 
thizing Saviour. 

Arthur Nelson, who was really a noble 
young man, had not forsaken them; but 
most of their summer friends had vanished. 
The fascinations of Augusta Spencer had 
lost their power over him ; for he had disco- 
vered in time the hollowness of her charac- 
ter. Her conduct to her lovely cousin had 
completely disenchanted him; but still he 


128 


THE FLOUNCED ROBE. 


visited them as a friend, and, feeling really 
alarmed about the state of Mr. Spencer’s 
mind, he was a daily visitor, and therefore 
delayed his departure for Europe. 

One day, unusual gloom had settled upon 
him; his eyes rolled as though in a state of 
frenzy; he would. frequently grasp his wife’s 
hand, and, wringing it, would say : What 
will you do, what will become of Augusta, 
w^hen I am.gone ? ” 

“What do you mean, Mr. Spencer?” 

“Never mind, wife, that is one of my 
secrets. I am going on a long journey;” 
and then a fearful laugh would follow such 
outbreaks. 

lie retired early. Arthur Nelson was in 
the parlor with the family, talking over their 
altered prospects. Suddenly the report of a 
pistol v/as distinctly heard : they all sprang 
to their feet; Mrs. Spencer and Augusta, 


THE FLOUNCED ROBE. 


129 


white as a sheet, fell prostrate on the floor. 
Arthur rang for a servant, and, pointing to 
the fainting females, rushed up stairs, and 
bursting open the chamber-door, there lay 
Mr. Spencer weltering in his blood, the vic- 
tim of a daughter’s folly and extravagance. 
One hand grasped a pistol ; low moans indi- 
cated that he was still alive; and Arthur 
instantly sent for the nearest physician ; but 
when he arrived, it was only to receive his 
expiring groan, and to leave the despairing 
spirit in the hands of a righteous Judge. 

Arthur then returned to the side of Mrs. 
Spencer, and it was his painful task to reveal 
the dreadful truth. Piercing, heart-rending 
screams were for hours the only relief which 
Mrs. Spencer could obtain. Horror had 
chilled the blood of Augusta, and she lay 
like a marble statue, cold, motionless, rigid. 
For a long time, scarcely any signs of life 
I 


130 


THE FLOUNCED ROBE. 


appeared; and when she opened her eyes 
once more, the dread reality overwhelmed 
her soul, and she could only say: ‘‘ Take me 
away from this dreadful house ! Oh mamma ! 
mamma ! hide me ! hide me I ” 

It was deemed advisable to remove both 
mother and daughter, but where to take 
them was the difficulty. Mrs. Duncan, hav- 
ing heard of their calamity, hastened to the 
scene of their misery ; and forgetting all the 
past, with true Christian charity, she came 
to offer the shelter of her humble roof, until 
all was over. 

“Anywhere but here, mamma,” said Au- 
gusta, as she observed that Mrs. Spencer 
hesitated; and as soon as a few articles 
could be gathered together, Arthur brought 
a carriage, and placing the stricken pair 
within, together with Mrs. Duncan, they 
bade a last adieu to a home wffiich was no 


THE FLOUNCED ROBE. 


131 


longer theirs, and were obliged to accept 
from a family whom they had insulted and 
despised, a shelter from the storms of mis- 
fortune. 

Behold in the prostrate form stretched out 
in death in that desolate home; in ruined 
prospects ; in a dishonored name and a 
houseless family, some part of the cost of 
that robe of folly, so eagerly coveted : much 
of its hitter cost was unseen, for in another 
•world only could its real price he calculated. 


132 


BITTER FRUITS. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

BITTER FRUITS. 

On arriving at the house of Mrs. Duncan, 
the poor ladies were received by Lucy, with 
the most considerate kindness ; who, having 
had a notice of their coming, had prepared 
a neat chamber for their reception, where a 
fire was already kindled ; and she conducted 
them herself to their room, took oft’ their 
hats and cloaks, persuaded them to lie down, 
and then brought them up a warm supper, 
which she begged of them to eat, telling 
them that the warm tea would revive them. 

When she saw who had accompanied them, 
her heart beat violently; for she had not yet 
learned to regard Arthur Helson with indif- 


BITTER FRUITS. 


133 


fcrence. On returning to the parlor, she 
found him still there, pacing up and down 
the room, in a state of great agitation. On 
perceiving Lucy, he advanced, and taking 
her hand, said : “ Will you not sit dowm by 
me for a few minutes ? It has been so long 
since I have seen you, and in a week I leave 
America.” 

Lucy seated herself in silence. 

“Will you not write to me, Lucy, in my 
exile?” 

“If you will receive friendly letters, I will; 
any other I must not write.” 

“ Even that I would esteem a favor, for I 
do not yet despair,” replied Arthur. 

In order to turn the subject, Lucy said: 
“I am glad, Arthur, to be able to benefit 
this poor unfortunate family. What a dread- 
ful end of worldly folly and ambition ! ” 

“ Theirs is indeed a sad history : they are 


134 


BITTER FRUITS. 


perfectly destitute. What is to become of 
them I can scarcely tell yet, for neither are 
fitted to support themselves : we must think 
of something for them.” 

Talking of this sad misfortune, they spent 
an hour together, and Arthur took his leave, 
promising to call again on Mrs. Spencer. On 
the next day, all that was mortal of Mr. 
Spencer was committed to the ground, al- 
most alone, without one word of Christian 
burial. 

In a few days, a purse was made up among 
some of Mr. Spencer’s former friends, which 
would pay a small board for one year. Al- 
most stunned by the sad reverse, both ladies 
kept their room entirely; and although they 
saw what a busy family Mrs. Duncan’s was, 
they never once stopped to think how much 
was added to their cares, by the extra atten- 
tion which they required of the servants in 


BITTER FRUITS. 


135 


the house. Their pride was, moreover, deeply 
wounded, in having to accept a shelter under 
Mrs. Duncan’s roof; and they scrupled not 
to act as if they thought it a great conde- 
scension for them to live in the same house. 
Their demands upon the chamber-maid were 
incessant. Early in the morning, Mrs. Spen- 
cer’s bell rang first for fire ; then for the ser- 
vant to dress them both ; then to bring up 
their breakfast, and to arrange their room. 
This consumed almost two hours of her time, 
and sadly tried Mrs. Duncan’s patience; for, 
having but one chamber-maid, she could illy 
spare her time for so much service in one 
room. Mrs. Spencer was fully able to come 
down stairs; still, her pride prevented her. 
Mrs. Duncan and Lucy both visited them in 
their room; but were generally received with 
so much coldness, that the duty became at 
last very painful. 


136 


BITTER FRUITS. 


When Arthur Kelson called, they gene- 
rally contrived to receive his visits ; for Au- 
gusta had not yet given up hopes with regard 
to him. Having mingled in such distinct 
circles, she had never learned the story of 
his attachment for her cousin Lucy, and 
would have scorned the bare idea, as too 
absurd. 

Their affliction had, thus far, only hardened 
their hearts. Having no intellectual resources, 
and neglected by their fashionable friends, 
they spent their days in lounging on their 
beds, indulging in vain lamentations over 
their past magnificence, reading sickly novels, 
and looking over the remains of their elegant 
wardrobe. For some time, the horror of the 
scenes through which they had passed still 
haunted their imaginations, especially at 
night; but by degrees the impression be- 
came more faint, and Augusta began to 


BITTER FRUITS. 


13T 


examine her dresses, and to look forward 
anxiously to the time when she could lay 
aside her mourning, and resume her gay 
apparel. 

One day, when employed in this manner, 
she came across the fated flounced robe; 
and even Augusta, with all her heartless- 
ness, could scarcely bear the sight of this 
dress. 

“ Oh 1 mamma, what shall I ever do with 
it ? . I can never wear it again, for Louisa 
Kandolph has told the story to everybody. 
I am sure that I never thought the pur- 
chase of one dress could bring such dreadful 
ruin.” 

“I think, Augusta, that you had better 
sell it. We want money now; and I will 
go some day to the Jew’s, and see what he 
will give us for it.” 

Accordingly, one morning they started on 


138 


BITTER FRUITS. 


their expedition, and succeeded in selling it ; 
only receiving eight dollars for a robe scarcely 
injured by wearing. Arthur had called to 
say good-bye ere he sailed, and Mrs. Spencer 
and her daughter had condescended to come 
down stairs on that occasion. When they 
entered the room, he was sitting on the sofa, 
by the side of Lucy, in earnest conversation. 
Augusta was almost sure that Arthur dropped 
Lucy’s hand as she entered; at all events, 
there was a degree of consciousness in the 
manner of both, that betrayed more interest 
in each other than had hitherto appeared. 
Augusta was tormented by jealousy, and 
wondered what it all meant. 

On taking leave, he bade farewell to Mrs. 
Spencer and Augusta, and raising Lucy’s 
hand to his lips, with illy-suppressed emo- 
tion, he took his departure. Lucy could not 
conceal her feelings, and hastened from the 


BITTER FRUITS. 


139 


room, to commit her friend to the protection 
of a kind Providence. 

“ Mamma, did you observe Arthur’s con- 
duct to Lucy ? They are certainly old friends, 
if not more.” 

‘‘Yes, indeed, I did observe it, and was 
struck with surprise. "Where could they 
have met?” 

“I suspect, mamma, that it was first at 
our house, when Lucy sewed for us. She 
sent her brother one evening for money, and 
then called herself; I think that Arthur met 
her in the vestibule, and overheard what I 
said.” 

“It seems, Augusta, as if everything is 
against us. Here we are compelled to seek 
a shelter with people whom we once de- 
spised; and yet I do believe that they are 
really good people, for they have never re- 
sented any of our conduct, and are just as 


BITTER FRUITS. 


iia 

kind as if we had always treated them as 
relatives.” 

‘‘But, mamma, I am completely buried 
here. Ko one can come to see us here in 
the midst of a boarding-school; and what 
are we to do when this year is at an end ? ” 

“ I do not know, unless we have to go to 
work.” 

“ Go to work, mamma ! Why, I was never 
taught to hem a pocket-handkerchief. I 
don’t know how to do anything.” 

Mrs. Duncan, who saw what useless lives 
both were leading, often sought to draw them 
out of themselves ; hut to no purpose. Oc- 
casionally, they came down into the parlor 
after tea ; but having no taste for intellectual 
society, they preferred their room and their 
novels. Lucy frequently invited Augusta to 
go to church with her; hut she always re- 
fused, saying that she could not rise early 


BITTER FRUITS. 


141 


enough on Sundays, and that it only in- 
creased her gloom ; and yet, when she looked 
at Lucy’s placid, holy countenance, she often 
w^ondered whether religion could make a per- 
son as happy as she seemed to be. Often 
Mrs. Duncan would leave a good book, or a 
striking tract, in their room ; sometimes she 
saw that they had been read, by marks left 
in them, and she still hoped to do them 
good. It grieved her, however, to see so 
much time 'wasted over their old finery, and 
to hear so much conversation about what 
they had seen in their morning walks. While 
this old passion had such full possession, she 
had no hope of better things. Still, her kind- 
ness was long-suffering ; if she had any nice 
little delicacy, frequently did she send it up 
to their room, with a kind message, begging 
that they would accept it, and often some 
book or paper accompanied the offering. 


142 


BITTER FRUITS. 


One day, Mrs. Duncan begged Mrs. Spen- 
cer to take a walk with her, saying that she 
had something to show her. She consented, 
for the first time ; and, after passing through 
many obscure streets, they came at last to a 
row of miserable houses, inhabited by a 
number of poor families. 

Mrs. Spencer at first shrunk away, but 
Mrs. Duncan said: “When I feel disposed 
to murmur at my lot, I come here; and 
many a sermon has been preached to me in 
this court.” 

After passing several houses, they stopped 
at a low building, and knocking at the door, 
were told by a rough voice to “come in.” 
When they entered, a rough-looking man 
scowled at them, and Mrs. Duncan said: 
“Do you not know me, John?” 

‘ Oh yes ! I know you well enough. I sup- 
pose that you have come to see our lazy Nell.” 


BITTER FRUITS. 


143 


“ Can I go np-stairs, Jolin ?” 

“ Go if you please. I hope that you ’ll 
leave us something besides prayers and 
tracts.” 

Mrs. Duncan mounted a broken staircase, 
and entering a low room, there lay on the 
bed a poor faded girlj who had been for 
ten years confined to a bed of painful lan- 
guishing. 

‘‘How are you to-day, Hellie?” 

“ I am very feeble, but desire not to com- 
plain. God is very good to me; He sends 
me kind friends and daily comforts. I 
think I am almost like Elijah in the wil- 
derness ; for my supplies come as fast as my 
wants.” 

“ Do you spend much time alone ? ” 

“ Yes ; mother has to go out to work, and 
father does not like to be with a sick girl.” 
As she said this, a tear trembled in her eye. 


144 


BITTER FRUITS. 


for her heart was often crushed by his un- 
kin dness. 

“Does the time hang heavily, i^’ellie?” 

“Sometimes it does, dear madam; hut 
generally I can think of Jesus. I feel His 
presence wdth me on this bed of sulFering ; 
and when I think of the exceeding weight 
of glory ’which these light afflictions are pre- 
paring me for, I am contented, and can often 
smile amid my pains, and sing songs of praise 
in the night season.” 

“ I have brought you some nice oranges, 
I^’ellie, and a dollar, which I think will pro- 
vide you with some extra comforts.” 

“Thank you, dearest friend,” whispered 
Hellie ; while she took Mrs. Duncan’s hand, 
and gratefully pressed it to her lips. 

“ Shall we have a word of prayer before I 
leave?” 

“Yes, ma’am; it would be a great com- 


BITTER FRUITS. 


145 


fort;” and Mrs. Duncan knelt by the bed- 
side, and poured out her heart in earnest 
prayer for the poor child of sorrow. 

Come soon again : your visits comfort 
me for days, dear Mrs. Duncan,” said l^el- 
lie, as her friend took leave. 

Mrs. Spencer was silent, for her heart had 
been touched. Her cousin, judging that her 
own reflections would be most salutary, wdsely 
refrained from any remarks, and walked 
quietly by her side. Whenever she could 
persuade Mrs. Spencer to accompany her, 
she took her with her on these walks of 
benevolence; and they often appeared to 
solemnize her thoughts, and quiet her re- 
pinings. 

The worldly concerns of the Duncans 
seemed improving. The school prospered; 
Lucy, fully occupied in her useful pursuits, 
was happy. She indulged in no vain regrets ; 

K 


146 


BITTER FRUITS. 


for, having committed her earthly destiny 
entirely into the hands of her Heavenly 
Father, she was willing that He should do 
with her whatever His wisdom esteemed 
best. She frequently heard from Arthur, 
and wrote kind Christian letters to him : it 
gave her much happiness to find that the 
tone of his correspondence was serious and 
thoughtful ; and she hoped, from many ex- 
pressions, that he was really interested in 
the great work of his salvation. In all her 
approaches to a throne of grace, he was most 
earnestly remembered, and the w^hole tone 
of her correspondence was of things connected 
with a better world. 

But Augusta still continued the same vain, 
thoughtless child of the world. So much 
had the one absorbing passion degraded her, 
that she was even willing to accept, from 
some of her former acquaintances, cast-oft* 


BITTER FRUITS. 


14T 


finery, rather than he deprived of these ob- 
jects of her idolatry. The same eager cove- 
tousness filled her heart, and tormented her 
with unsatisfied cravings. Every fine day, 
she was out on her old expeditions. Being 
without money, she was unable to buy; and 
was constantly seeing some article of finery 
that she could not possess. 

One morning, she went out shopping 
alone. Stopping at Levy’s, she was examin- 
ing some rich lace and handsome collars. 
I^ear her lay an elegant piece of Valenciennes 
lace, and a French collar. She turned them 
over and over in her hands; her desire to 
possess them became every moment more 
intense; an evil spirit whispered in her 
ears; her heart beat violently. Stealthily 
she slipped the two articles underneath some 
fine pocket-handkerchiefs that lay near, un- 
observed, as she supposed: she drew them 


148 


BITTER FRUITS. 


close to the edge of the counter, and in an 
instant had transferred them to her muff. 
Talking a little while longer, she stood con- 
versing with the young lady who had waited 
upon her, and was leaving the store, when 
she was arrested quietly by the same person, 
who whispered to her: “Miss Spencer, I 
wish to speak with you.” 

Terrified, she was hurrying out, when the 
muff was snatched from her hands ; and in 
the jerk, the lace and collar fell out on the 
floor. Augusta stood the picture of despair: 
she could not deny the theft ; the proof was 
in their hands. One of the clerks came for- 
ward, and said: “Young lady, you cannot 
leave the store;” and taking Augusta into 
an adjoining room, he sent for Mrs. Duncan, 
whose name she had given. Augusta was 
in an agony of grief: humbled, prostrate 
with shame, and not with repentance, she 


BITTER FRUITS. 


149 


sat in sullen silence, and refused to speak a 
word. 

When Mrs. Duncan arrived, she could not 
believe it possible; and asked how they 
could accuse a young lady of such a dread- 
ful crime ? 

The young man replied: ‘‘There is the 
young lady; ask her;” and Mrs. Duncan 
turned to Augusta, confounded by her look 
of conscious guilt. “ Oh ! Augusta, has it 
come to this?” 

She looked as if she were paralyzed, and 
returned no answer. 

“What is to be done, sir?” asked Mrs. 
Duncan. 

“ I fear, madam, that the young lady must 
be exposed.” 

“Oh! have mercy on her mother: you 
know not what she has suffered. You have 
the goods. Spare her this once, and a poor 


150 


BITTEE FEUITS. 


broken-hearted mother will bless you for 
your compassion!” 

After much persuasion, Mrs. Duncan suc- 
ceeded in obtaining her release ; and in pro- 
found silence they hurried home. The story 
had circulated through the store, and next 
day the papers teemed with the account, 
withholding the name ; but in a short time 
busy rumor had spread the truth, and Au- 
gusta Spencer’s name was forever a blighted 
proverb among her former gay friends. 

Unfortunately, her mother had heard the 
dreadful story; and, not able to bear the 
shame, she had bowed her head lower and 
lower, until, under the weight of anguish 
which she endured, she resorted to the chew- 
ing of opium, as a means of lulling the suf- 
ferings of her mind. Mrs. Duncan was 
deeply distressed, and Lucy tried all her 
powers to direct the unhappy mother to a 


BITTER FRUITS. 


151 


pure source of consolation ; but in vain : 
the conscience seemed seared, the heart be- 
numbed, the mind paralyzed, beneath the 
dreadful sufferings which she endured. 

For a long time, Augusta maintained her 
sullen silence: she shunned every one in 
the house, scarcely speaking a word: she 
was almost the image of despair; but the 
sight of her mother’s anguish at last aroused 
her. One night, she had been sitting by 
her mother’s bed, when she was attacked 
with one of her dreadful paroxysms. It was 
a dark and stormy night ; the wind howled 
fearfully ; and the elements wdthout seemed 
to sympathize with the wretchedness within 
that suffering chamber. As Mrs. Spencer lay 
in a state of insensibility, Augusta exclaimed : 
‘‘ Oh ! what have I done ? My father ruined, 
my mother destroyed by my folly, my pros- 
pects blighted, my character gone, — all this 


152 


BITTER FRUITS. 


misery in this world, and I dare not think 
what lies beyond.” 

It was long before Mrs. Spencer revived ; 
each attack left her more weak, and it was 
manifest that her health was rapidly de- 
clining. Her dreadful appetite for opium 
increased in its demands; and so great a 
slave had she become, that she was but a 
wreck of her former self. 

In the midst of all this misery, Arthur 
returned. Maria had never neglected her 
friend, and had kept him constantly informed 
of the progress of events. When he first 
saw Mrs. Spencer, he was deeply shocked, 
and taking his sister aside, he said: “Maria, 
do you suppose that she is aware of her near 
approach to the grave ?” 

He expressed himself so solemnly upon 
the subject, that Maria looked up surprised, 
and Arthur answered the look by saying: 


BITTER FRUITS. 


153 


“Sister, you seem surprised; but I have 
learned to look upon these solemn subjects 
with different feelings. I am no longer the 
gay and fashionable Arthur IS'elson: I desire 
to be an humble Christian. Since I have 
seen the beauty of piety, in the lives of 
Lucy Duncan and her mother, I have longed 
for the same blessed Spirit, and I trust that 
it will be vouchsafed unto me.” 

“You rejoice my heart, dear brother; but 
I fear that our poor friend Mrs. Spencer 
is certainly without preparation for another 
world.” 

“Does Mrs. Duncan ever speak to her 
upon the subject?” 

“She does; but she always evades the 
least allusion.” 

Lucy soon comprehended the change which 
had taken place in Arthur. Added to his 
fine natural qualitiesj there was now the 


154 


BITTER FRUITS. 


charm of piety ; and Lucy soon feared that 
his society was more than ever dangerous to 
her peace. Therefore, resolved not to en- 
courage his attentions clandestinely, she 
avoided his society, and endeavored to oc- 
cupy her mind with the business of her 
school. 

One evening, when he had called to see 
Mrs. Spencer, he found Lucy alone in the 
parlor, and seeing her about to leave the 
room, he called to her : “ Lucy, can you not 
spare me one minute alone ? Why do you 
avoid me?” 

‘‘ Can you ask, Arthur ? Do you not see 
what is my duty? Do not tempt me to 
swerve from the straight-forward path.” 

“Ah! Lucy, I fear that you are growing 
indifferent.” 

She turned towards him, with her expres- 
sive eyes swimming in tears, and said: “Ar- 


BITTER FRUITS. 


155 


thur, how can you say so ? You know not 
what it costs me; hut while your mother 
remains as she is, we must remain hut 
friends.” 

‘‘Lucy, I respect your principles; hut I 
fear that I can hardly imitate your lofty 
virtues.” 

He took his leave, more than ever pene- 
trated with the deepest sentiments of respect 
and affection. Both were deeply interested 
in Mrs. Spencer. Lucy frequently sought 
opportunities of dropping a serious word, 
hut without effect : the poor misguided wo- 
man, hardened hy worldliness, and stupefied 
hy opium, seemed sinking into the grave, 
without a God, without a Saviour. 

Augusta avoided the presence of Arthur 
Helson; for, since her sad downfall and 
disgrace, her eyes had begun to open to her 
real character, and she shunned the society 


156 


BITTER FRUITS. 


of former friends. While Mrs. Spencer re- 
pelled all others who approached her with 
serious conversation, she sometimes listened 
with interest to Arthur ITelson. But impres- 
sions made were transient; and no sooner 
had he left her, than she sank again into a 
state of dreamy lethargy. 

So descended the faded, worn-out victim 
of folly and fashion into a cheerless, dreary 
grave. No Christian hope illumined her 
death-bed — no Saviour’s arms were under- 
neath her sinking frame; and when she 
came at last to buffet the waves of Jordan, 
it was all alone, — alone she met the king of 
terrors, — alone she passed the boundaries of 
time, — alone she met an avenging Judge : 
we will drop a veil over the last sad hour, 
and leave the spirit with a righteous God. 

Augusta’s grief was deep and overpower- 
ing : at last the marble heart seemed touched. 


BITTER FRUITS. 


15T 


the sleeping conscience awakened. In the 
retirement of her silent room, by the side 
of her mother’s cold remains, busy memory 
recalled the past. All her folly, her selfish- 
ness, her sin, passed in awful array before 
her awakened soul. The bleeding form of 
her wretched father, and the pale remains 
of her mother, like the ghost of Banquo, 
stood before her, with accusing looks of bit- 
ter agony. Eternity, with all its solemn 
realities, for once confronted her trembling 
conscience. Death, the grave, the judgment- 
seat, were words breathing horror ; and, tor- 
tured by the pangs of hitter remorse, her 
soul cried out from its very depths : “ God 
he merciful to me a sinner ! ” 

In a few days, all that was mortal of the 
once proud and courted Mrs. Spencer was 
'jommitted to the grave. ‘‘Ashes to ashes, 
iust to dust,” sounded drearily over the de- 


158 


BITTER FRUITS. 


scending coffin: no hope of a glorious im- 
mortality illumined the dark precincts of 
that gloomy sepulchre; and Augusta re- 
turned from the sad rites, humbled, subdued, 
penitent. From that day, a better spirit 
seemed to possess her heart, and to prepare 
it for future peace. 


PEACE AT LAST. 


159 


CHAPTER IX. 

PEACE AT LAST. 

Augusta’s long-suffering Christian friends 
soon perceived the change which appeared 
to be coming over her spirit. Overwhelmed 
with distress, convinced truly of her sins, her 
repentance was deep and genuine. She 
spent much time alone : Mrs. Duncan, who 
judged rightly of her state of mind, did not 
intrude upon her privacy ; for she saw that 
a better Teacher than herself was guiding 
Augusta into paths of peace. But the way 
by which she was led was through a waste, 
howling wilderness, beset with foes on every 
side : the most dangerous of all was the ser- 
pent pride, which had so long held undis- 


160 


PEACE AT LAST. 


puted possession of her soul. Long she 
struggled with its dark temptations ; hut at 
last, unable to carry her burden all alone, 
she sought for Christian counsel. 

One evening after tea, she remained a few 
minutes, as though wishing to say something, 
and whispering to Lucy, ‘‘ Come to my room, 
I wish to speak with you,” she hastily sought 
her chamber. When Lucy entered, Augusta 
was lying on the bed, in an agony of tears. 
Her cousin advanced : Can I comfort you, 
Augusta?” 

“ I know not, Lucy ; but I must tell some 
one of my agony. Oh ! could you know 
what I suffer in my lonely hours, you would 
pity me. Such horrible memories of the 
past, such dismal prospects in the future: 
lost parents, an angry God, a soul forsaken : 
it is more than I can bear. I try to pray, 
but the heavens are brass to me. I can 


PEACE AT LAST. 


161 


obtain no relief : I am a poor, lost, undone 
sinner.” 

“Augusta, I cannot bear to see you suffer; 
and yet, strange as it may appear, I am more 
rejoiced to hear of your present state of 

mind, than of any tidings which you can 
give me; for you seem to me now like the 
broken reed, which God will not break, or 
the smoking flax, which He will not quench.” 

“ Sometimes, Lucy, it seems to me as if 
there can be no pardon for wickedness like 

mine. ” 

“ Do not say so, Augusta. Jesus’s love is 
infinite ; He is ready to pardon the vilest, if 
you will only go to Him believing.” 

Long they conversed together ; and Lucy 
offered, if her cousin wished it, to stay all 
night in her room. She gladly accepted the 
offer, and felt her presence an unspeakable 
comfort. Augusta asked frequently to go to 
L 


162 


PEACE AT LAST. 


church and evening lectures with Lucy; and 
exhibited many marks of deep humility, and 
an increasing interest in Divine things. 

Her friends hailed the signs with unfeigned 
joy. Arthur was extremely kind, in bring- 
ing suitable books, and in seeking opportu- 
nities of Christian conversation ; but it was 
a long time before light dawmed upon her 
mind ; and when at last she was enabled by 
faith to embrace a crucified Redeemer, the 
fruits which followed were truly indicative 
of a renewed nature. Pride was deeply 
abased ; envy of Lucy’s excellence entirely 
vanished ; and she rejoiced as much in the 
respect which she everywhere received, as 
before she had been tormented by these 
manifestations. 

‘‘Lucy, can you give me some employ- 
ment,” said Augusta, one morning. “ I am 
tired of such a useless life as I have led; for, 


PEACE AT LAST. 


163 


though I can never atone for past ungodli- 
ness by future goodness, I feel that it is my 
duty to do something to benefit my fellow- 
creatures.” 

‘‘"We have a class of little girls, who need 
instruction in elementary branches; if you 
choose, you can teach them.” 

Augusta gladly caught at the idea, and 
on the following day took her place in the 
teacher’s chair. Her naturally impatient 
temper was often sorely tried; for there is 
much, among a class of little girls, to irritate 
even a well-disciplined character ; but it was 
an excellent school for Augusta’s new princi- 
ples. The frequent failures to exhibit Chris- 
tian temper, drove her nearer to a throne 
of grace; and constant exercise, under the 
teachings of the Holy Spirit, by degrees 
ripened the fruits of holiness. She no longer 
looked upon Lucy with envy; but, admiring 


164 PEACE AT LAST. 

her Christian character, she sought to imi- 
tate her excellence, and even to rejoice in 
the love which she saw Arthur ITelson felt 
for her sweet cousin. Truly changed, she 
loved what once she hated, and hated what 
once she loved — “old things had passed 
away; all things had become new.” 

Having regarded her excessive vanity as 
the snare which had caused her so much 
misery, she was led to an opposite extreme, 
and was so scrupulously afraid of falling into 
the same sin again, that she was disposed to 
neglect common attention to the proprieties 
of life, for fear that she should again become 
a slave to dress. Having a great deal of 
valuable jewelry, she sold it all, only retain- 
ing a ring, and a breastpin which contained 
her parents’ hair. 

When she made new purchases of her 
winter clothing, Lucy saw that she was carry- 


PEACE AT LAST. 


165 


ing out her new principles to a morbid ex- 
treme, and she said: ‘‘Augusta, I would not 
choose such an old bonnet and cloak. You 
are young, and should wear youthful, but 
not extravagant, clothing.” 

“ Lucy, I feel as if I ought to mortify the 
desire in every possible way.” 

“ May there not be^something self-righteous 
in the feeling, Augusta ? or a secret idea of 
merit in the sacrifice ? ” 

“ Perhaps there may be : I never thought 
of that, Lucy. What do you think is the 
right rule with regard to the subject?” 

“As there are difierent stations recognised 
in the Bible, it appears to me that there 
must be some difierence in their modes of 
life, apparel, etc. What is suitable for an 
old person would not be appropriate for the 
young; and what is perfectly correct and 
proper for the mistress, is very unbecoming 


166 


PEACE AT LAST. 


for the servant; but for all ranks, extrava- 
gance, immodesty, absurdity, are certainly 
inconsistent with the Gospel. ‘Let your 
moderation be known unto all men,’ refers 
to dress, as well as other worldly things. 
Devotion to dress, much thought upon the 
subject, argues a mind full of worldliness 
and folly.’’ 

“When I think, Lucy, what misery it has 
brought upon me, you may well imagine 
that I fear its power. It was my folly that 
made me purchase that flounced robe, that 
led me to tell that falsehood ; that led me 
still farther to deceive with regard to my 
party. Exaggerated stories about both that 
fatal dress and that social evening, brought 
down my father’s creditors upon him, caused 
his awful death, my disgrace, my mother’s 
loss of health and hopeless end. Can you 
wonder that I should fear the very name of 


PEACE AT LAST. 


16T 


fashion ? You have no idea how engrossing 
is the dreadful passion. Why, Lucy, even 
in the house of God, under the most solemn 
preaching, all my thoughts have been about 
the fashions around me; sneering at some, 
admiring and envying others ; and even now 
the temptation returns.” 

Lucy was pleased to see these salutary 
impressions ; and knew that time, increasing 
knowledge, and experience would lead her 
into all truth, with regard to this, as well as 
all other subjects. 

Arthur continued to exhibit increasing 
marks of real, decided piety. He forsook 
all his former gay companions ; and devoted 
himself, with all his wealth and influence, to 
the cause of his Redeemer. His mother ob- 
served the change ; and was especially touched 
by the respect and kindness, which he always 
manifested towards all her wishes. She saw 


1G8 


PEACE AT LAST. 


that he was often sad, and evidently struggling 
with his feelings ; her pride began somewhat 
to relent; and when she saw the universal 
respect which was entertained for Lucy and 
her mother, she began to wonder if she 
should be much degraded by a connection 
with the family. 

Resolving to see them again, one morning 
she called, and was received by Mrs. Duncan 
with true Christian politeness. She could 
not but see their superiority; and knowing 
what extravagance and folly half of the fash- 
ionable young ladies would require of her 
son, she seriously asked herself the question, 
whether a wife with more moderate expecta- 
tions, and domestic habits, would not really 
make a happier home for a son whom she 
dearly loved? The more she saw of this 
lovely family, the more she was convinced 
that such was really the case. 


PEACE AT LAST. 


169 


Determined to oppose the matter no fur- 
ther, she sought an opportunity to speak 
alone to her son. “Arthur, I cannot bear 
to see you so unhappy, and feel that I am 
the cause. If you really love and prefer 
Lucy Duncan, I withdraw all opposition. I 
see her superiority, and believe that she will 
make you really happy.” 

“ Oh ! my mother ! how can I thank you ? 
She will he a blessing to us all, as she has 
been in her own home. You cannot know 
her loveliness, unless you had seen her as I 
have.” 

Arthur hurried to Mrs. Duncan’s. It was 
evening, and the family were assembled in 
their pleasant parlor. Lucy and Augusta 
were seated at a table, busily employed with 
some female work : the former appeared 
deeply meditating upon some sad recollec- 
tions, for occasionally she breathed a heavy 


170 


PEACE AT LAST. 


sigh. The appearance of the latter was 
wholly changed: her brilliant beauty had 
disappeared, and in its place a subdued and 
softened expression lent new and more inte- 
resting charms to her countenance. Sud- 
denly, the front-door bell rang; a familiar 
step sent the blood mounting to Lucy’s face; 
in the next minute, the door opened, and 
Arthur l^elson advanced with a quick and 
joyous step ; his face beamed with smiles of 
happiness, and advancing to Lucy, he whis- 
pered : Can I see you alone ? ” 

She led the way to an adjoining room, 
and when they were seated, Arthur said: 
“I am the bearer of joyful tidings. Your 
goodness, dearest Lucy, has conquered. My 
mother sanctions my choice : we are no longer 
separated : now I may approach you as the 
dear partner of my earthly pilgrimage, and 
as a fellow-heir of a home in the skies.’* 


PEACE AT LAST. 


171 


The announcement had been so sudden, 
that Lucy could scarcely speak; but at last 
she said: “Arthur, how good our Heavenly 
Father is! Can we ever thank Him suffi- 
ciently? I had begun to school my heart to 
final separation, and was becoming daily 
more resigned to His will. I trust that we 
may not be too much intoxicated with visions 
of future happiness.” 

They spent an hour in the sweet inter- 
change of pure affection, which had been so 
long interrupted. Arthur sent for Mrs. Dun- 
can, and asked her blessing on their be- 
trothal. The happy mother knew his worth : 
solemnly, but cheerfully, she gave her che- 
rished daughter to the one to whom of all 
others she would rather entrust her daughter’s 
happiness. 

When they returned to the parlor, Au- 
gusta soon perceived that something unusual 


172 


PEACE AT LAST. 


had happened; and, surmising the truth, 
from Lucy’s blushing face and tearful eyes, 
she afiectionately pressed her hand, and whis- 
pered : ‘‘I give you joy, Lucy: you have won 
a noble heart.” 

On the next day, Mrs. iTelson called on her 
elected daughter, and warmly greeted her, 
as the sweet companion of her darling son. 
Maria was overjoyed. Sister Lucy at last. 
I always said it would be so, and I have 
prophesied aright.” 

^Augusta still continued to show decided 
marks of sincere piety: her humility was 
now as marked, as her pride had formerly 
been. It was often sorely tried ; for, among 
her early friends, few could bring themselves 
even to speak to her in passing, for they re- 
membered only her disgrace, and were slow 
to believe in her repentance. 

One morning, she had w^alked out alone. 


PEACE AT LAST. 


173 


Not far from home, she met Mary De 
Lancey, one of her most intimate friends. 
On passing, she looked at her full in the 
face, and with a haughty toss of the head, 
and a bold stare, she passed/ her without a 
recognition. "When Augusta reached home, 
she related the affair to Lucy, saying: ‘^It 
is no more than I expected, and is just what 
I deserve. I could hardly suppose that a 
respectable person should notice a thief; but 
I will endeavor to retrace my steps. How 
long do you think, Lucy, it will be before I 
regain my character?” 

“Very soon, with all real Christians; but 
you must not expect much charity from the 
world.” 

Nothing could have been more convincing 
of the reality of the change wrought in Au- 
gusta’s character, than the manner in which 
she received these rebuffs. Formerly, she 


174 


PEACE AT LAST. 


would have resented such insolence with 
redoubled haughtiness ; hut now, so deeply 
was she convinced of her ill deserts, that she 
meekly received it all, as a part of her just 
punishment. Her real, heartfelt joy in Lucy’s 
present happiness, was another proof of the 
reality of her principles. Envy had long 
since vanished; and unmixed delight in see- 
ing Lucy happy, spread sunshine over her 
own desponding spirit. 

But so powerful is the influence of evil 
habits, that Augusta found it very diflSicult 
to conquer her natural indolence ; but deter- 
mined, by the aid of Divine Grace, to over- 
come all that was contrary to God’s will and 
a Christian’s duties ; and though often over- 
taken by the snares laid for her by her arch- 
enemy, still her progress was onward. She 
began by degrees to take real pleasure in 
constant employment. Beading, teaching. 


PEACE AT LAST. 


175 


visiting the poor, and attendance upon the 
means of grace, which she had once so much 
neglected, fully occupied her time; and al- 
though, occasionally, fits of despondency came 
over her, when musing on the dreadful past, 
still, generally, a spirit of cheerful resigna- 
tion was displacing that of gloom. 

We will leave her for awhile, and return 
to Lucy Duncan. Winter passed rapidly 
away. Spring birds began to warble sweet 
melody around the garden of Mrs. Duncan ; 
for, as in her humblest home, she had green 
trees and sweet fiowers, so now she had very 
pleasant grounds for her pupils’ hours of 
recreation. Lucy might generally be seen 
busily employed in her neat little chamber : 
her nimble fingers were swiftly plying her 
needle, day by day; but not now, as for- 
merly, to obtain her daily bread. With the 
aid of a seamstress, she was making rapid 


176 


PEACE AT LAST. 


preparations for the joyful event which was 
to introduce her to new scenes, new joys, 
and new responsibilities. 

Augusta and Maria were often called in to 
consult about many little matters, which were 
proper in her new situation. Even though 
Arthur was wealthy, Lucy could not consent 
to any extravagance ; her wardrobe was neat, 
becoming, and in good taste. 'When her 
wedding-dress came home, even Maria would 
have liked something a little more showy ; as 
she knew Arthur’s exquisite taste, and was 
well aw^are that he would wish his bride 
adorned as the wdfe of a rich man ; but 
Lucy replied: ‘‘The apostle has laid down 
the rule for me, when he says, ‘Whose 
adorning let it not be that outward adorning 
of plaiting the hair, and of wearing of 
gold, or of putting on of apparel. But 
let it be the hidden man of the heart. 


I 


PEACE AT LAST. 


177 


even the ornament of a meek and quiet 
spirit/ ” 

At last, on a bright May morning, when 
the sun shone out in all his gloiy, a smiliug 
group is gathered in Lucy’s chamber. The 
bride is soon arrayed: a simple white silk 
dress, with double illusion skirts, made very 
full, robes her lovely form; her beautiful 
hair is laid in massy folds around her head, 
ornamented with a wreath of orange blos- 
soms ; while a soft illusion veil shades her 
neck and shoulders, depending almost to her 
feet. This simple costume was pronounced 
by all who saw her, to be that which most 
became the modest loveliness of sweet Lucy 
Duncan. 

On a table were lying many beautiful pre- 
sents for the young bride ; but none pleased 
her more than the pretty love-gifts sent by 
her scholars. When the hour had arrived, 
M 


178 


PEACE AT LAST. 


^ Lucy met Arthur at the room door: she 
wore an aspect of deep and solemn happi- 
ness, as she took his arm, and descended to 
the carriage, which was in waiting, to convey 
them to the church. The services were per- 
formed by the Eev. Mr. Wentworth. Au- 
gusta had been chosen as first bridesmaid; 
for Lucy and Arthur both wished to show to 
the world their confidence in her new cha- 
racter, and their determination of placing 
her by their hearthstone, on terms of perfect 
equality. 

There was a large attendance at the church, 
and, after the ceremony, the newly-married 
pair returned to Lucy’s home, where they 
partook of a cold collation, and then set out 
upon their wedding tour. After an absence 
of two weeks, they returned. Arthur’s 
house was ready; and Maria received the 
young pair in their beautiful residence, 


PEACE AT LAST. 


179 


where every comfort, and even elegance, 
was provided, but with a careful avoid- 
ance of all that was merely showy and 
extravagant. 

Mrs. l^elson soon became aware of what a 
treasure her son had obtained, and treated 
her with great respect and affection. Au- 
gusta was received into their family as a 
dear sister ; and both Arthur and Lucy 
sought, by the most affectionate treatment, 
to make her forget the past. Their friends 
soon saw how she was regarded; and, by 
degrees, her modest, unobtrusive deportment, 
and her real piety, obtained for her the re- 
spect of all whose notice was worth having. 
She was happy in her cousin’s house. Pos- 
sessed of Christian hope, devoted to high 
and holy pursuits, surrounded by a circle of 
intellectual and pious friends, ‘‘her peace 
flowed like a river, and her righteousness as 


180 


PEACE AT LAST. 


tlie waves of the sea.” She began to realize 
what is meant by “ the peace which passeth 
all understanding;” and daily experienced 
how great the contrast between the glitter, 
the tinsel, and emptiness of mere w^orldly 
joys, and that mild and satisfying blessed- 
ness which the Gospel gives. 

In this simple story may be seen the de- 
structiveness of that passion for dress which 
so frequently ensnares the youthful female. 
In the young creature whose sad history is 
here recorded, we see it consuming precious 
time, absorbing all the thoughts, making her 
perfectly selfish, leading inferiors astray b}'' 
the force of a bad example, ruining her tem- 
per, degrading her intellect, burning up ever}^- 
thing good and holy, wronging a cousin 
struggling for support, estranging a noble 
heart, — until at last, by her inordinate love 
of dress, she sacrifices her father, destroys 


PEACE AT LAST. 


181 


her family, sinks lower and lower, — even at 
last purloining finery to gratify the one con- 
suming thirst for dress, ruining her mother’s 
peace, and bringing her to a dreary grave ; 
and all this to gratify female vanity. 

In the smiles of delight with which the 
infant Augusta hailed the first hat and 
feathers;, in the excitement created by the 
indulgence of all her capricious whims; in 
the false, bewildering pleasures of her first 
ball, we see the sowing of the poisoned seed 
of vanity, which produced such baneful fruits. 
In the purchase of her fiounced robe, when 
her father was a bankrupt, we have the full- 
blown weed of female vanity; and in the 
dreadful train of evils which followed, we 
see something of the cost of that robe of 
folly : — to know it all, we must lift the veil 
which hides another world from our view. 
“ Behold how great a matter a little fire kin- 


182 


PEACE AT LAST. 


dleth,” might well be recorded of this one 
act. Could we know the history of many 
flounced robes which flutter through our 
cities, perhaps more appalling revelations 
might yet be written, than the tale of Au- 
gusta Spencer’s folly. Still more dreadful 
stories might be told of facts occurring around 
us daily, where, under the influence of a false 
education, many young creatures, from the 
indulgence of this one inordinate desire, have 
sunk so low, that a female pen must not de- 
pict their misery; for the history of such 
might be among those things which the 
apostle says ‘‘are not to be spoken of;” but 
facts might be told, where foolish mothers 
have so trained their young daughters in 
habits of idleness and extravagance, that, 
when cast upon the wide world, without a 
parent’s protecting care, after a few struggles 
with poverty, they have sunk to rise no more. 


PEACE AT LAST. 


183 


Let young persons beware, when tempted 
to indulge in this one absorbing female pas- 
sion, lest they also should be led into habits 
which may produce as much misery as this 
flounced robe. Let them also learn, from 
the story of Lucy Duncan, lessons on the 
power of real piety ; let them recognise the 
care which God bestows upon His own child- 
ren ; and learn that, although for wise pur- 
poses He may permit them to be oppressed 
and down-trodden for awhile, it will ever be 
true, that “whoso humbleth himself shall be 
exalted.” 

In the case before us, the long-suflering 
charity of the Gospel has lifted the poor vic- 
tim of folly from the depths of her misery ; 
and, extending a sister’s hand, by God’s bless- 
ing on the example of a pious female, has 
led her back to happiness and God. 

In Arthur’s home of peace and love, we 


184 


PEACE AT LAST. 


will leave our happy group; Lucy and her 
husband, blessed in each other, and blessing 
where’er they go ; not expecting perfect rest 
on earth, hut looking forward to the happy 
period when they shall together enter into 
the joy of their Lord — well assured, that 
when God sends trials. He will also send 
grace to sustain their hearts. 

Augusta will learn, beneath that roof, that 
true happiness ‘‘ consisteth not in the abun- 
dance of things which a man possesseth,” 
but in the spirit of entire submission to all 
God’s dispensations ; so that, whether doing 
or suffering His holy will, there will be found 
perfect and abiding peace. 


THE END. 


28 Jan isno 




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